


The Traveller

by roqueamadi



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Boromir Lives, F/M, Female Ranger, Girl disguised as boy, Hurt/Comfort, OFC from Middle Earth, Slow Burn, Tenth Walker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-14 23:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18486901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi
Summary: She didn't mind doing a favour for Aragorn, but wraiths, quests and the Ring of Power? That was going a bit far.A tenth walker (female ranger)/Boromir AU, with some promises: No repetition of canon scenes, no Mary Sue, and it's a pre-prepared complete story, finishing post-RotK.





	1. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically I wrote this years ago and I've been thinking for a while I ought to just post it. It required a monumental uphill push to finish editing and join all the scenes together in a way that somewhat makes sense, but I *finally* did it. Yay!
> 
> I'm not sure if there are many people still hanging around in this fandom these days, and in any event I'm not expecting huge numbers of readers, but if you are here, I really hope you enjoy it! I've tried to make it somewhat different from all the other tenth walker AUs, and I've made sure to avoid all the things I personally dislike in this genre, ie repetition of canon scenes, Mary Sue OFCs, and a story that falls apart after the end of Fellowship. It's not beta'd, and I had to combine three different versions of it that I'd written over the years, so I really hope it all fits together and works. Anyway, I'll stop talking now, but please comment and let me know what you think :)

“You’re late.”

Cin stepped out from behind a tree, straight into the path of her kinsman. Aragorn’s hand flew automatically to his sword, but then he recognised her, and he came to a halt with a sigh of relief.

“Cin,” he said, a smile breaking his tired features, and he stepped forward to grab her in a rough embrace. Behind him, three hobbits stumbled to a halt, almost falling over one another in the process.

He stepped back, and waved a hand to his companions.

“Allow me to introduce Cinir." He paused before continuing, glancing over her mode of dress. "He is one of my kin from the north.”

“Another ranger,” one of the hobbits—she wasn’t sure which—murmured.

One of them stepped bravely forward to shake her hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Pippin. That’s Merry, and that’s Sam.”

“Hello,” Cin replied, nodding at each of them.

“Are you joining us, Cin?” asked Pippin.

She glanced at Aragorn. “I was only asked to deliver your supplies, to repay a favour. Although I didn’t know there were going to be _wraiths_ involved,” she added, through her teeth.

Aragorn’s expression grew grave. “We have already met them. One of the hobbits was stabbed with a morgul blade. Arwen met us yesterday and took him on ahead.”

Cin grimaced. “That is ill news. Though it explains why I haven’t heard them since yesterday. Anyway, here—” she bent to lift her heavy rucksack. “You are still a few days’ march from Rivendell, and I have food, and fresh supplies.”

“Oh, what a relief,” Sam said tiredly.

“We’re _starving_ ,” Merry agreed. Cin was quickly relieved of the bag and the hobbits started to set up a cookfire then and there.

Aragorn nodded to her and they walked a few steps away to talk. Once the trees gave them a little privacy, Cin turned to him. “I was worried about you,” she said.

Aragorn smiled and ruffled her hair gently. “I am grateful to you for coming. I wasn’t sure the message would reach you.”

She frowned, flattening her hair again, and said grumpily, “I hadn’t intended to return this far east so soon.”

Aragorn paused before replying carefully, “You are so eager to return west?”

“You posted me there,” she pointed out.

Aragorn deliberately ignored that comment, and looked her up and down with a frown. “You look thin,” he said disapprovingly. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” Cin replied. “Have you been home, since…?”

“No,” he shook his head. “But I have heard that your mother is well.”

Cin nodded.

Aragorn sighed, and then explained the situation to her in a low voice. “The other hobbit, Frodo, carries the Ring of Power. Gandalf discovered that it had been in Hobbiton for many years, right under his nose. Somehow it has been activated again, and the Nine were sent to pursue it. Gandalf was meant to meet us at Bree, but he never turned up, and I fear for him. My only hope is that the Ring gets to Rivendell and the Nine can be repelled—it is in Arwen’s hands now.”

Cin grasped his arm. “She will be fine. She can ride faster than any Wraiths.”

“I hope so.”

“So…” she frowned. “A _hobbit_ is carrying the Ring of Power?”

Aragorn spread his hands. “Those are the only details I know. I hope Gandalf will catch up to us, and explain all this.” He paused. “In the meantime, I would value your help—”

“Aragorn—”

“Just to help me get them safely to Rivendell. After that, I do not know what will happen.”

She groaned. “You promised this was just one errand—”

“I know, Cin, I’m sorry, but I need your help. They have no skills for the wilds. I am hunting for four, and keeping watch every night. It is only a few days more to Rivendell. Please, come with me.”

Cin’s eyebrows shot up. “Interesting argument, since I know for a fact you can go weeks without sleep with barely any ill effect. Are you getting old?”

“I must be,” he replied, attempting sincerity.

She sighed. “I know what you are trying to do,” she said, bitterly. He was trying to bring her back into the world, and out of isolation. She now wondered whether the entire story about needing a supply drop was entirely false, though by the way she could see the hobbits enthusiastically unpacking the supplies over his shoulder suggested otherwise.

He cocked his head, regarding her with warmth in her eyes. “Is it such an ill intention?” he asked. Then he lifted an eyebrow. “As your Chieftain, I could command you.”

Cin rolled her eyes. “If you want me to come to Rivendell that bad, I guess I can’t refuse.”

“I do,” Aragorn said, pleased. He flicked her short hair again. “You are travelling as a man, then?”

“It is safer,” Cin shrugged.

“You look passable, I suppose,” he said, with half a smirk. “I will not reveal your secret.”

“And you? What do the hobbits call you?”

“Strider is the only name they know.”

Cin nodded. “Well, if you don’t call me ‘she’, I won’t call you your name,” she teased.

“A fair trade.”

“Would you two like to eat?” Pippin called over.

 

Cin spent most of the trip scouting ahead of the group, looking for danger. It also allowed her to relieve herself without anyone noticing. But, most importantly, she was not fond of travelling in a group. She was happy to rely on herself; she had her own supplies, and ate when she pleased, even though the hobbits continued to offer to cook for her.

 

It was several days later when they finally arrived at Rivendell, and to their relief, Gandalf was already there. He explained everything that had happened and Cin started to fully realise the gravity of the situation she’d become involved with. She had intended to leave straight away, but Lord Elrond invited her to attend the Council to determine what was to be done, so she decided to stay at least long enough for that, to find out what would happen with the Ring.

Several weeks passed while they waited for the messages to go out and the emissaries to arrive. She was glad to see Legolas, who she had met a few times before, but knew none of the other elves, or any of the dwarves who eventually arrived.

Then one Thursday, she met Boromir.

She was hurrying to the archery range to join Aragorn for morning practice. She turned down an underpass with stunning views of the waterfalls through the arches, and then a voice called out behind her.

“Pardon me!”

She came to a halt, turned, and then experienced something she hadn’t experienced since she was a wide-eyed teenager: When she laid eyes on the man behind her, framed by the stunning hills and waterfalls behind him, in a way that made him look like a posed painting of a hero of old, her throat went dry. He was  _really_ attractive.

This kind of reaction wasn’t something that happened to her. Ever. She usually didn’t even notice what people looked like—men, women, elves, dwarves. Aragorn would often roll his eyes at her when she was asked to describe someone and she could barely tell him anything. But, for the first time in many years, she knew instantly that the man in front of her was _stunning_.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, lad,” he said, with a warm, deep, masculine voice, and she had to focus hard to concentrate on what he was saying. “I am in search of the library; do you know the direction?”

She nodded. “I am heading in that direction now. I’ll show you.” She winced internally as she turned away to lead him, hearing the embarrassing eagerness in her voice.

“Thank you,” he nodded, as they started off down the hall. “May I ask your name?”

“Cinir, son of Cindred, of the Dúnedain.”

“Another Ranger?” he asked, carefully neutral, and she glanced up at him.

“You have met Strider already?”

“Yes. I am Boromir of Gondor.” His name made her stomach pull slightly. _That_ was going to be awkward, once Aragorn’s true identity came out.

“You have come for the council?” she questioned, though she knew the answer. Someone like him would never venture this far west for any other reason.

“Yes—you are attending?” he asked, with a note of surprise.

She nodded. “Strider requested it.”

“You are his kin?”

“I believe he is my second cousin, though that is unsurprising. We are a small group; most of us are related in some way.”

Boromir hesitated. “May I ask… in what capacity will you attend?”

“Strider asked me to assist, in case there is a need. He values my skills in combat…”

“ _Combat_?” Boromir burst out before he could stop himself.

“...and healing,” Cin finished, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I see,” he said, attempting to smooth out his expression.

“You think me too small to be able to fight?” Cin challenged.

“I never said that, lad,” he replied, though he couldn’t hide the grin on his face. “My own brother is a smaller man, and I must credit him with some skill with a blade.”

“How generous.”

“I meant no offence,” Boromir said lightly, not remotely embarrassed. “Perhaps we shall spar sometime,” he suggested, indulgently.

She sighed. What a shame that he was so attractive, yet obviously a complete chauvinist. She supposed a man being both attractive and intelligent was too much to hope for.

She drew to a halt at an intersection. “The library is straight through here.”

He clapped her on the shoulder, his hand large and heavy. “My thanks, lad.”

She nodded, and repressed a sigh as he turned off. A moment later, Aragorn appeared at her side, materialising out of the shadows of an alcove and joining her in watching Boromir’s back as he walked away.

“An interesting encounter,” he commented mildly.

“He is a pig,” she replied.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. “Is that truly your opinion?”

“Why?” she asked, guardedly.

“You did not find him… pleasing to the eye?” he asked.

“ _What_? What do you mean?”

“A suspicion only.”

“You can _tell_ that? Can men seriously _tell_ that?” she demanded, turning to face him.

Aragorn hid a smile. “Do not panic. It is only because I know you. He would not have been able to tell.”

Cin sighed in relief. “It was just a… a brief thought that passed through my mind, I don’t know what I did to … _project_ it…”

“Just a brief thought?” he repeated, disbelieving, with the trace of a smirk.

She sighed. “I don’t… what did I do?”

Aragorn crossed his arms in front of him. “You were looking him up and down like a piece of horseflesh.”

Cin snorted. “He was doing the same to me. He was shocked when I said I was skilled in combat. If he’d known I was a woman also, he’d likely have died of shock.”

Aragorn looked away down the corridor, and said in an undertone, “He seems more interested in his own voice than anything else, regardless.”

Cin nodded. “That was my assessment as well. Aragorn—you know who he is, right?”

He turned away and continued on their path. “Of course.”

“So—that’s going to be… awkward. Isn’t it? If he finds out who you are?”

“I doubt it will come up.”

They practiced archery together every day, for most of the morning. Aragorn had been one of her first teachers, and it was a habit they kept up whenever they were in the same place, though archery had never been Cin’s strong suit.

“Don’t try to hold for so long,” he suggested calmly, watching her draw.

“I’m strong enough to hold it,” she said, the string pressed against her cheek. “It makes it easier to aim.”

“I’m aware of how strong you are,” he said in a mildly teasing voice. “I say it because in the heat of battle, you will need to be faster.”

She lowered the bow and relaxed the string.

“In the heat of battle, I don’t bother with a bow.”

“You never know what will happen. It is better to prepare for all situations.”

“Yes, I know,” she sighed.

She aimed more quickly, and released.

“Good,” Aragorn praised. “You are a fast learner.”

She grinned over at him, but then, over his shoulder, she saw Boromir crossing from one building to another on the other side of the training grounds, probably on his way to lunch.

“Ow!”

Aragorn had just smacked her across the head with his bow.

“Well, perhaps you’re not such a fast learner all the time.”

She rubbed her ear. “I only looked for a second!”

“Cinir,” he said, and she cringed at the use of her full name, “You should not look at him that way at all. I know the type of man he is, and I would not have you anywhere near him. Besides that, he will notice. _Others_ will notice.”

“I know, I know—”

“You changed as soon as you saw him. Look-” he gestured. “Your shoulders, your hands…”

Cin consciously relaxed, dropping her shoulders.

Aragorn sighed. “Better.” He glanced at her face. “And your face?” he prompted mildly, and Cin put on a scowl. He nodded. “Keep practising. With luck you’ll learn all this as fast as you learn the bow.”

 

The day of the Council finally came. Everything that Aragorn had hoped to remain hidden came out in the open. Cin had gone in with the intention of doing no more than finding out what was going to happen, but when it came time to decide the members of the Fellowship—Aragorn was looking at her with the request clear in her eyes, and she would have found it hard enough to resist her Chieftain, but Boromir was going as well, and well—that was enough to convince her. So she broke her promise to herself, and agreed to continue further east.


	2. Leaving

The Fellowship started out the quest in uncomfortable silence, aside from the hobbits’ occasional chatter, and Boromir’s occasional needling, either with Aragorn and Gandalf about the route, or to Cin about her abilities.

On the first day, she passed him as they all puffed their way up the fourth steep hill of the day, and he evidently couldn’t restrain himself from making a rude comment.

“Have you ever swung that sword, lad?” he asked, pointing to the blade at her hip. Cin paused reluctantly, already in a foul enough mood from having to travel in such a large group.

“Of course,” she replied.

“Does it even slice through anything? It looks thin enough to be a toothpick. A match for its owner, I suppose,” he said, evidently thinking himself highly witty.

“I daresay I’ve killed more orcs than you,” Cin replied flatly.

“That would be a grand claim, indeed.”

“Would it? So you’ve seen battle, then?” she asked innocently.

“Seen battle? I’ve been killing orcs since before you were born, lad. How old are you, anyway?”

Cin was about to shoot back an acid reply when a hand clapped her on the shoulder and Aragorn drew her aside, feigning the need for a conversation until Boromir continued up the hill, out of earshot.

“Do not make an enemy of him,” Aragorn warned her.

“He started it,” Cin muttered.

 

It was at least helpful to avoid further arguments that Aragorn and Cin spent a large amount of time scouting ahead of the main group, checking for danger, and also allowing Cin to relieve herself without being discovered.

 

Boromir kept up his occasional nasty comments throughout the week, making it abundantly clear that he thought she didn’t belong in the group.

Despite this, he was kind and friendly with the Hobbits, even giving them impromptu sword lessons. She starting pulling her sword out and following along during these lessons, separate from the group, not meaning to bother him but listening out to the instructions he was giving.

Unfortunately, this offended him as well.

It was about the fourth day in when, while she was practising the basic steps over and over, a little way away from the hobbits’ lesson, she turned as part of the sequence and found Boromir suddenly standing there watching her.

“Your skills in combat are so great that you need to practice the basic steps?” he asked bluntly.

Cin lowered her blade. “Any good swordsman knows it is important to practice the basic steps,” she said, levelly.

“You selfish little upstart,” Boromir spat. “By seeking glory for yourself, you put the entire Fellowship at risk. This is a quest for warriors, not boys.”

Cin was speechless—but only for a few seconds. Her heart sank slightly as she realised just how much of a negative impression she’d made on him, but just because she thought he was hot didn’t mean she’d let him walk all over her.

Cinir stepped closer to him, trying hard to contain her anger. “Do you call Aragorn a liar? He has seen me fight.”

Boromir didn’t back down an inch. “I have seen neither of you fight, and I do not have high expectations.”

“I’m happy to show you right now!”

Aragorn appeared out of nowhere, grabbing her arm before she could lunge at Boromir, who smirked with satisfaction.

“Enough, Boromir,” Aragorn cut in, then tugged Cin away.

After that, Aragorn was cautious to avoid setting them on watch together, or letting them complete any task together. The other members of the Fellowship seemed perfectly happy to wait for their first encounter to pass any judgment—it was only Boromir who had the problem.

“I wish some orcs would attack us already,” she muttered, still annoyed that night when she shared the middle watch with Aragorn.

He smiled. “I believe Boromir is just angry that we are not taking the road towards the Gap of Rohan, and then to Minas Tirith.”

“He’s stupid if he thinks it’s a good idea to go that close to Isengard.”

After a pause, Aragorn said carefully, “Your opinion of him seems quite reversed.”

She looked up. He was teasing. “The more he acts like an arse, the easier it is for me,” she replied, and Aragorn nodded, trying not to laugh.

 

Unfortunately, on the road, it was difficult to for her to avoid Boromir completely. She groaned aloud when, the next day, she somehow managed to start out on the walk from their night’s camp to the creek with the flasks to collect water, only to find him on the path already, carrying Sam’s cooking pots. She tried to walk slower so that he wouldn’t turn and notice her, but it was too late. He turned and stopped as she approached.

“Are you sure you’ll be capable of carrying those flasks once they’re full, lad?” he said with amusement as she marched past him.

“Why don’t you talk to the Hobbits the same way you talk to me?” she asked, gritting her teeth as he followed her.

“Because, lad, they’re Hobbits, and make no false claims as to their abilities. They’re here to support the Ring bearer. You’re only here because you’re the kin of that Ranger.”

Cinir threw the flasks down onto the ground and turned to him. “Come on. You and me, right now. Let’s settle this.”

He dropped the pots. “If you insist, lad,” he said, his eyes brightening eagerly. “I’ll try not to injure you.”

“I don’t give a shit what you do.”

He put a hand to his scabbard, but she didn’t give him the chance to draw.

She rammed into him at force, tripping him onto his back and coming down hard with her knee on his stomach, reaching to get a lock on his arm as quickly as possible. But he was big, and strong, and stubborn, and he wasn’t going to let her win that easily.

He rolled her over, gaining the upper position. She used her legs to stop him putting his full weight on her, and grasped his collar before he stabilised his position, wrapping her arm around his neck, pulling his collar across his throat; it was a powerful choke hold. She felt him jerk in shock, not expecting the threat from his own clothing, but used his formidable strength to roll them both once again.

Her grip was solid. She could have held the choke no matter what the position, for minutes if necessary, until he passed out—but unfortunately that roll covered the final distance to the river, and they both fell over the sharp bank with a huge splash.

Cinir’s grip was broken when they hit the water, so she pushed away to gain space before surfacing, struggling against the current…

And up on the bank, Aragorn was standing there, looking furious.

“Get out,” he commanded.

They both did as he said, completely soaked and dripping wet, and breathing hard. Once they stood on the bank before him, he spoke quietly. “Not so much as another glance between the two of you, or you’ll both be left behind. Boromir, fill the flasks. Cinir, scout the surroundings.”

They both did as they were told. Cin stomped off, fuming with the injustice of it, since she hadn’t even started it. She genuinely considered simply disappearing into the wild and leaving the group behind. She could still help them by scouting far ahead, and would at least have some blissful alone time. However, what annoyed her most about the whole thing was how the image of Boromir drenched, hair over his face and clothes clinging to his chest, stuck with her for the rest of the day as though it had been burned onto her retinas.

To her extreme annoyance, he still didn’t let up even after she had—in her opinion—definitively beaten him. A few days later, he called her out again during the next sword lesson with the Hobbits.

“Come, Cinir—you are a renowned warrior, are you not? Come and teach us something.”

Cin got to her feet reluctantly, aware that he was hoping to find another way to mock her. She stepped over to the flat area where they were practising.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Boromir said mildly with a raised eyebrow. Cin raised her hands.

“What?”

“Your sword, lad.”

“To fight you?” she questioned, exaggerated. “No, I don’t think I’ll need it. It’s alright, Boromir, you can use one—I don’t mind. Let’s go.”

She raised her fists, and Boromir stared at her, incredulous. He even shot a glance across to Gimli, who she hadn't thought he particularly got along with, but evidently this was humorous enough for them to share a laugh.

“Very well.” He faced her and gripped his sword at the ready. She waited.

He faced her and gripped his sword at the ready. She waited.

He took a few steps, obviously expecting her to move, and she watched his movements passively. After a few seconds he lunged forward and swung at her.

She stepped quickly back out of his reach as he swung, then again and again, moving smoothly backwards, the sword passing a few centimetres from her body each time.

On the third swing he followed through more than before, and she knew he wasn't going to swing right back again—she saw the moment his muscles went past the point of being able to quickly reverse their movement.

She took that opportunity to step inside his range, too close for the sword to touch her, at the same time delivering a short and fast flurry of strikes. He was well padded and well muscled and after striking at his ribs once she knew it wasn't going to be a useful target for her; however, the other strikes made up for it.

She hit his ear, his throat and his nose and he snapped his head back to avoid further damage. She took that chance—lightning fast, because if she did it any slower he would escape too easily—and grasped his hand, twisting expertly. All at once he dropped his sword and fell to one knee.

“Give up?” she asked without emotion. She felt him start to move—just the first twitch of muscle—he wanted to drive forward to break her grip. She applied a slight amount more pressure and he twisted back to the ground again. If he hadn't, he would have dislocated his own shoulder.

“I yield,” he said, through his teeth.

She switched her grip to clasp his hand and pulled him to his feet, then shook it before he could pull it away.

“Good bout,” she said with a smile. “You're very strong”.

She said it without really thinking—it was her standard practice to thank and compliment her opponent, although after she said it she thought it might have been a good opportunity to dig in her victory and make him pay for all his nasty comments.

He retrieved his sword and straightened. She could tell from his expression that his pride was wounded. However, he forced it down and nodded. “I haven’t seen a fighting style like that before,” he said.

Cin was impressed and shocked that he wasn’t acting like a sore loser—she had expected him to throw a tantrum, but instead he was acting like a mature adult for once. She put aside her shock and tried to form a response. “Er—no, it’s particular to my clan. I learned it from a young age.”

“Very impressive,” he said through his teeth. He was struggling, but he wasn’t letting his wounded pride rule him. “Perhaps you could teach me some of those techniques, sometime?”

She nodded, completely stunned. He turned away and went to sit by the fire.

 

They avoided each other thoroughly after that. She didn’t speak a single word to him for weeks. She wasn’t sure whether he was embarrassed for being beaten, or if she had proven herself to him and he now regretted what he’d said before, or if he still thought she was unworthy of being on the quest.

She knew it would take a long time to walk all the way to the mountains, and she had genuinely expected to go completely insane before then. She spent the first few weeks filled with constant anxiety about her lack of control of the necessities of the quest—always wondering who would do the cooking, who was in charge of their supply levels, concerned they were camping too early and leaving too late each day. However, to her surprise, as the weeks stretched out, she started to get used to it. For the first time in years, she didn’t need to worry about where her next meal was coming from, because she could rely on Aragorn monitoring their food supplies and Sam on cooking every night.

The Fellowship were all getting to know each other, and they no longer walked in awkward silence all day, but chatted amicably. The scenery was beautiful. And being part of a group, swept up in the minutiae of daily tasks and hearing the conversation of others, even if she wasn’t often a participant, was a welcome relief from the world of her own head, where she’d spent most of the past year.

She took the middle watch every second night with Aragorn. They caught up on their many months apart, and she appreciated the break from having to constantly deepen her voice, as she did around the others. She commiserate with him over leaving Arwen behind, and tried to convince him he would see her again. She continued to listen in on Boromir’s sword lessons with the Hobbits, but didn’t bring her own sword out again—not after what happened last time. She went on frequent scouting missions, both ahead of the group and behind, which allowed her to pee, but also to genuinely scout.

She felt like she’d been on this quest for years, not weeks, by the time the crows appeared.

 

“Crebain from Dunland!” Legolas suddenly shouted while she was in the middle of a mouthful of cooked rabbit.

“Hide!” Aragorn yelled.

Frantically, she shoved her plate under a bush and joined Gimli in kicking dirt over the fire pit.

“Quickly!” someone called out. She looked around—everyone else was almost hidden. The dark mass in the sky was almost on them. She dived for the nearest bush.

She hadn’t realised Boromir was already there. She almost got up to find somewhere else to hide, but he grasped her arm and pulled her back, tight against him in the small space.

All the air stuck in her lungs. She felt blood rushing to her cheeks and ears and tried to breath. She stared resolutely up, through the branches to the sky, waiting for the crows to appear. They were pressed side to side, her arm up against his massive solid one, his other hand still reaching across his chest to grasp her elbow, firmly holding her in place, not game to move. She hoped he wouldn’t guess anything from being so close to her.

The crows swept overhead, noisy, darkening the sky. Her heart was trying to smash its way out of her chest. To her horror, she felt her whole body shiver slightly from the tension. Boromir’s grip tightened on her arm, stilling her. She concentrated on breathing.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the crows thinned out, and seemed to vanish.

“Are they gone?” she whispered, after a moment, and turned her head to glance at Boromir for his opinion. That was a mistake; his face so close to hers in the tight space, his eyes meeting hers levelly. She felt heat flood her face.

“I think so,” he murmured.

She nodded quickly, and scrambled backwards, away from him as fast as she could.


	3. Falling

It was only a few days between the appearance of the crows and when they were halfway up Caradhras, and they started to hear a voice on the air; it was Saruman.

Cin stuck close to the cliff face. She felt it when the cliff path started to shift under her feet. She was right in the middle of the group, and everyone split to either side. She followed, to the left, but she was behind the hobbits, and they were slow, and she couldn’t get around them.

She felt the rocks loosening and slipping beneath her boots. She started to fall—someone grasped her arm and hauled her up, but the cliff was continuing to give way.

“Keep moving! Keep moving!” she could hear someone shouting, but she wasn’t sure who it was. Another crack, and she knew it was all over.

Snow piled over everyone and she was falling, but she couldn’t even tell how fast she was going. Then, without warning, she hit rock, continued tumbling down further, and then came to a sudden stop, her body tossed at an awkward angle. Pain flared out from her arm.

The noise of the avalanche died down and she raised her head. She was still on the mountain, but she had fallen far enough that the others were completely out of sight.

She sat up, with difficulty. She had fallen all the way down to a lower path.

She jumped when she heard a noise from right behind her, and tried to spin. She put weight on her arm as she did so, and yelled out in pain. Her left arm was completely useless. To her relief, the figure bursting out of the snow wasn’t an enemy. It was Boromir.

“Be damned to this mountain!” he yelled out, shoving snow off himself until he could move, then getting to his feet and shaking the snow out of his clothes, looking around. He did a double take when he saw her, clearly not expecting her there. “Cinir,” he said, “are you alright?”

She nodded. “I’m alright. I just... hurt my shoulder a bit.”

He crouched next to her, brushing snow off her jacket roughly, then paused.

“A bit? I think you’ve dislocated it, boy. Come—we need to find shelter.”

She wished she'd been given the luxury of simply passing out, but she never quite did. Boromir hauled her up by the good arm, onto her feet and then marched along the path until eventually they found an alcove into the rock. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to provide a little shelter. He maneuvered her to the back wall, and she sat leaning against it.

“We won't tarry here long,” he said “I must look at your shoulder—if it's simply disconnected, I will be able to fix that.”

He knelt beside her, reaching for her tunic.

She grasped his wrist instinctively, her mind running through what might transpire from this. It wasn't going to be good.

“Come,” he said, pushing past, “if it is swelling, the cold will do it good.”

She leaned back against the wall as he unbuttoned her tunic and gently slid it off over her limp arm, and her undershirt followed. As he unbuttoned it to reveal her skin, the long strip of cloth which bound her breasts came into view, and he frowned. She watched his face as he unbuttoned it further, preparing for the inevitable. The band was now fully in view. Boromir stared at it, then up at her face, then back at it.

“...Are you injured?” He asked, almost hopefully.

She sighed, and let her voice come out naturally, for once. “No. Unfortunately, it’s exactly what you suspect.”

He sat back so quickly he overbalanced and fell onto his arse.

“You—”

Cin grimaced.

“You're not—”

He was struggling to find the words.

“Not a man?” she supplied. “Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. It’s my custom to travel in disguise, for safety.”

He wasn’t quite at the stage of forming words yet. He was in complete shock. She waited. She didn’t think there was anything she could say.

Finally, he gathered himself. “Of all the… I knew it! I knew there was something about you! A lying, deceiving woman.”

“Aragorn knows,” she said quietly.

He stared. “He knows, and he let you come?”

“Yes, because of my abilities, as I've always said!”

“So _he_ has been lying to us all this time too.”

“Actually, he just thought it was none of your business.”

“When the others hear about this…”

“Boromir! Don’t be so stupid! I'm here to help, can’t you see? What does it even matter?”

“Of course it matters!” he yelled. “If you've lied about this, then what else? How can I trust you're not a spy of the enemy?”

“If I was a spy, I would be… the _worst_ spy ever. I’ve been travelling with you for weeks and I’ve done nothing to endanger any of you. If I were a spy, don’t you think I’d have been trying to influence your route? Don’t you think I’d have been trying to find out information, or something? That’s insane.”

Her words had no effect on him. His face was steely.

“What would be insane is if I let this deception continue. I will give you one allowance. Leave the group, at the first opportunity, or I will expose you.”

With that, he laid one large hand over her shoulder, the other firmly around her wrist, and yanked. She yelled out as he pushed the joint back into place with an unpleasant sound. The pain flared and then faded to an ache.

He let go and sat back. “Copy me,” he said, and raised his arm. Surprised, Cin followed him through a full range of movements.

Satisfied, he nodded.

“Thank you,” she said.

He ignored her. “We need to get moving.”

She eased her clothes back on and got to her feet, and followed him back outside.

He walked quickly, and she hurried behind him, and they didn’t exchange another word for hours—somehow, he led her straight back to the group, who were on their way back down the slope. A few more hours’ walking and they were below the snow line.

Once they picked a campsite and everyone was busy with their regular tasks of making camp, she saw Boromir pull Aragorn aside. They had a whispered argument, but she couldn’t hear anything they said, or tell the result. Neither of them spoke to her after, so she assumed the ultimatum still stood.

She felt depressed—she couldn’t believe she was truly getting kicked out. She wanted to tell Aragorn, but knew Boromir might call off the whole deal if he saw her talking to him privately, and reveal her secret to the whole group. She decided to do as he wished, and stay nearby, and wait and see what happened. She didn’t miss the irony of the situation, that this was something she had desired only a few weeks ago, yet now it felt like a sharp loss. She knew Aragorn would be furious when he found out what had happened, and Boromir would likely be overruled. So, hoping she would be back before long, she crept away that night. Gimli was on first sentry—she waited for him to patrol out from the campsite a little, and then grabbed her stuff and headed off in the opposite direction, towards the nearest trees. She didn’t plan to go far, but she still felt a little choked up as she walked away. She wondered if any of them aside from Aragorn would come looking for her.

“Cinir.”

She spun. Boromir was standing back amongst the trees, the way she’d come.

The sight of him filled her with anger. “I'm _going_ , alright?” she said fiercely, turning and stomping off.

“Wait,” he said, reluctantly.

Cin turned again and stared at him. “ _What?_ ”

He took a deep breath and walked the final few steps up to her.

“I should not have reacted as I did earlier,” he said, stiffly. “I was rude, and I offer apology.”

“Uh…” she paused, trying to take this in. “Did Aragorn put you up to this?”

“No. I reconsidered my actions, and I realised that it would be wrong to send a lady out into the wild alone.”

“ _Ah_ ,” she said, realising. “So it's just that I'm a pathetic woman and I'll surely perish on my own in the wild, is that it?”

“Unfortunately there are no more towns for a long way. Perhaps if we pass through my city…”

She raised a finger to berate him but he put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her with her mouth open. “Please, no more arguing today. I’m sure we will have plenty of opportunity tomorrow.” She was surprised to see a slight smile of amusement cross his face.

“My favourite hobby,” she said wryly.

“I should have guessed you were a woman from that alone,” he replied. Cin gritted her teeth and didn’t reply.

He picked her bag off the ground before she could get it. She almost laughed out loud at this extreme change in his manner. “It’s alright, I can carry it.”

He sighed. “I’m only being polite,” he replied, frustrated. “Besides, your shoulder must be painful.”

“...I guess so.”

The effort he was putting in to be polite was almost palpable in the air. “You ought to keep an eye on the swelling,” he said stiffly. “It should go down soon, but if it doesn't there may be another internal issue. I can check it in the morning, if you'll allow me. Away from the others, of course.”

“Let's see if we even get a chance,” she said, warily. She shook her head, still not quite able to grasp this change in his attitude. “You know, I saw you arguing with Aragorn. Did you tell him that you found out about me?”

“Yes,” Boromir replied.

“And? What did he say?”

Boromir shrugged, and said uncomfortably, “He said… I should mind my own business.”


	4. Scouting

The next morning, Aragorn looked completely oblivious, so Cinir had to assume Boromir had decided all by himself not to kick her out. They were heading towards the mines now, and Legolas said he had heard wargs in the far distance during the night, so today Cin’s scouting mission was joined by Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli. They moved off ahead of the rest of the group, running and walking in turns, to gain distance and ensure that the way was clear.

It became evident during the morning that there were definitely orcs and wargs around. They followed their trail, circling back around the Fellowship, and finally, _finally_ encountered them after almost a whole day of scouting, halfway along a ridge path, a sheer drop right beside them.

Cin was relieved and excited - inappropriate responses to an upcoming battle, she knew, but she was so ready for a fight she didn't care. She was at the front of the group as they started forward towards the orcs—ugly and repulsive but not enough to bother her.

“Stay together,” Aragorn warned, but she ignored him as the first orc charged forward at the group, running out to meet it. It held a roughly-made sword over its head as it ran, ready to strike downwards at her head. It was powerful, but it was slow, and not at all agile. She sidestepped its strike at the same time as aiming an elbow into its nose. That was enough to make it drop the sword and grab its face, screaming. It was a simple matter to trip it so that it fell forward and rolled down the cliff.

She turned to the next one; it was already halfway through a horizontal swing with its weapon. She moved carefully, just out of range, until she decided to strike—and then she stepped close, right inside its range, striking at the same time. This time she found its throat, which collapsed under the force of the blow, and the orc dropped to the ground choking. Nearby, Aragorn and Boromir were hacking through the other orcs quickly.

Only one more remained closeby her, although it was aiming at Boromir. She stepped directly behind it in time to catch its arm halfway through the swing of a sword and divert the blade. It fought against her direction and as a result, though she hadn’t intended it, impaled itself on its own blade. She let go and stepped back quickly as it thrashed and screamed.

As it fell to the side, it revealed Boromir standing just behind it, wide-eyed. He was staring at her, shocked. She felt the satisfaction of being proved right rush through her. Then, he said suddenly, "Cinir, watch out!"

 

“I’ve got it,” she said, turning to the last few remaining orcs.

“Cin—!”

The warg slammed into her. She hadn’t seen it coming—she had been focussed on the orcs still fighting Aragorn and Gimli. Boromir charged forward while Cin yelled and spun around. The warg had latched onto her arm. She punched it in its massive nose, gritting her teeth as she felt it tearing her skin, and it still didn't move. Now she was wishing she was drawn her sword, and she tried to reach around her body to her scabbard, but couldn’t get past the massive jaws.

And then, a sword emerged straight from the beast’s belly. It fell away, finally releasing her arm, and Boromir stood behind it, withdrawing his blade.

“Are you alright?” he asked quickly.

“I’m fine,” she nodded, her good hand closing over the wound. He stepped forward, pushing her hand away and grasping her arm, tearing away the shredded fabric of her tunic.

“Move your fingers,” he said. She did as he said, and he nodded.

“Not serious,” he concluded, bending to lift the bottom of his own tunic and efficiently splitting the end with his sword and then tearing a strip. Almost before Cin could blink he was wrapping the expensive fabric tightly around her arm to stem the bleeding.

“Thank you,” she said, taken aback by his actions—she hadn’t expected that at all. However, as soon as he finished tying the bandage, his voice picked up volume again.

“You cannot rush ahead like that and ignore your companions,” he berated her.

Aragorn stepped up beside her, glancing down at her wrapped arm. “Boromir is right. We need to know we can rely on you in battle; it is not just you alone anymore.”

Cin’s face was burning. She knew they were right. However, before she could muster a reply, Gimli came past and thumped her on her good arm.

“Impressive, lad,” he said roughly, nodding at her.

“I—huh?”

“You dispatched three orcs on your own within seconds,” Boromir said quietly. “Few men can claim such a feat, let alone without even drawing your sword.”

Cin grimaced. “I should have, though. I needed the sword when the warg grabbed me. Luckily you were there,” she said to him.

Boromir met her gaze but didn’t reply.

“Come,” Aragorn said to everyone, “We should return to the others and get out of this area. More orcs will not be far away.”

Cin started to follow, but Boromir paused her with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he said sincerely. “Aragorn was right—you will be an asset to the Fellowship, if you can fight like that. I should not have doubted.”

Cin was completely dumbfounded by this earnest admission. Boromir was proud, for sure, but he certainly wasn’t a sore loser. She couldn’t remember ever receiving such a complete and honest apology before. It made her a little uncomfortable. She just shook her head.

“There’s nothing to apologise for.”

 

They returned to the rest of the group but didn’t stop to rest. Aragorn urged everyone on at a fast pace for the last hour or so of sunlight. The pain in Cin’s arm had faded to a dull throb.

Finally, as the sun was setting spectacularly in the west, they made camp amongst the rocks.

Cin sat heavily, glad to finally drop her pack on the ground. The Hobbits took over the camp preparations while Gimli and Legolas continued on, scouting.

To Cin’s extreme surprise, Boromir sat down next to her with a flask of water and the wound treatment pack.

“Let me see your arm,” he said.

“Er, alright.”

She didn’t fail to notice that everyone was staring at him—they all knew that she and Boromir didn’t talk, and now he was offering to help her out?

He ignored them completely.

She winced as he started to unwrap the blood-soaked piece of cloth, but his hands were surprisingly gentle.

He sat her arm across his thigh and she was highly conscious of the feeling of her arm on his leg, and of his fingers touching her skin.

She took a steadying breath. She needed to ignore those kinds of thoughts.

“I am sorry for yelling, earlier,” he said. “It was not my place.”

She took a breath. “No,” she said, letting it out all at once. “You were right. I’m not used to being with other people.”

“I thought you came from Aragorn’s clan of rangers?”

“Yes, but for the past year or so I have been stationed in a remote posting—far to the west.”

“All by yourself?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “You don’t get lonely?”

She nodded. “Yes, I suppose I do,” she said, and to her surprise his eyes softened somewhat.

“Sometimes I crave such a situation. I have barely ever been alone my entire life. My whole childhood with my brother, Faramir, and my whole adult life with other soldiers. And Faramir, still,” he added, smiling.

“Is Faramir older?” she asked, wondering from the way he talked about him, though she was pretty certain Boromir was the heir.

He smiled. “No, but certainly wiser. He is far more intelligent than I.”

He carefully poured water over the wound to clear the dried blood. When it was cleaner, it didn’t look as serious. She felt extremely happy, even though what he was doing was hurting. He was impressed with her. She hadn't been a burden.

“I should like to meet him someday,” she said, hesitantly, wondering if that was too personal a thing to say, but cut off with a wince as he swiftly pierced her skin twice with a stitch. She hadn't even noticed him threading the needle. Luckily, he obviously thought only one stitch was needed. She swallowed hard, watching as his large fingers tied the thread in a neat knot.

“Then you shall,” he replied, sitting back, his work done. “Minas Tirith should be proud to host such a renowned warrior.”

She glanced at his expression, and saw that he was only slightly teasing. She focused on her arm again, heat flooding her face.

 

After that day, things between them changed.


	5. Talking

Several days later, they camped nearby a stream. She was busy helping to set up the camp, and when she wasn’t paying attention, Boromir stepped into her path and she ran straight into him.

He was holding a bar of soap, and had two of the thin cloths that passed for washing towels tossed over his shoulder.

“You can do that later, Cinir,” he said, his voice slightly louder than necessary. “Aragorn might be used to such things in the wild north, but if I must continue sleeping nearby you, I’m going to insist you bathe.”

Cin stared at him, unbelieving. “Bathe?”

He grinned broadly. “I’m sure it’s a foreign concept in your land, boy, but not in mine.”

“Your clothes are rather dirty, Cinir,” Frodo piped up from behind her.

She turned to glare at him. “Well, maybe I should spend less time scouting and more time pampering myself,” she said wryly, and Frodo laughed.

She rolled her eyes, and as she started to turn back, caught Aragorn’s gaze for a moment. He was watching carefully, but she gave him a small shake of her head to say it was fine.

“Come on, boy,” Boromir said, turning away.

Cin dug her hand in her pack and pulled out her tightly rolled spare clothes for the first time, extremely excited to be able to finally get clean.

“Wait for me,” Pippin suddenly piped up, jumping up from where he sat at the cooking fire. “I’d fancy a bathe, myself.”

“Me as well,” Merry agreed, reaching for his pack. Cin repressed a groan, and opened her mouth to say something to excuse herself from the excursion, but Boromir beat her to it.

“You hobbits stay put. You spend enough time preening—you need to spend more time on our dinners and your footwork. I’ll drill you when I return.”

The two hobbits sat back down, crestfallen, and Boromir grabbed her arm, hauling her off quickly towards the trees. “Come, before anyone else decides to join in,” he muttered.

They walked quickly down the hill, the camp soon only visible from the smoke of the small cook fire. The voices of the others faded into the distance.

Finally, Cin spoke. “Do I really smell?”

He burst into laughter. “No, m’lady. I just noticed that you haven’t had the chance to bathe in private. I thought I could provide that opportunity, since a stream is nearby.”

“In private? So you’re going to leave, then?” she asked, her voice teasing.

He met her gaze in the fading light, his eyes full of mirth. “You needn’t worry. I will not peek.”

“Right,” she muttered, still feeling unbalanced by this gravitational shift in their relationship. “Don’t call me m’lady.”

They arrived at the softly trickling stream. Large rocks lined the bank. It felt quite open, but she knew there wasn’t likely to be another soul for miles and miles.

Boromir immediately dropped his clean gear on one of the rocks and started stripping off. “I’ll go in first, and leave you in privacy,” he said, swiftly removing his tunic. He pulled his undershirt off, revealing his chest and arms and shoulders and Cin felt her throat go dry. He hooked his thumbs in his waistband and paused. Belatedly, she realised he was grinning at her roguishly.

“You can watch if you like, m’lady, although you might give me the wrong impression.”

Feeling heat rush to her face, Cin hastily turned her back. “Sorry,” she muttered hoarsely, and he only laughed in response. A few seconds later, she heard a splash and turned tentatively back. He was in the water, below the rocks. She sat on the rock and slowly started removing her boots, nervous.

She could hear him splashing around, diving under and up again as he scrubbed his hair with the soap. She was pretty sure he was ignoring her. She tugged off her trousers and unbuttoned her tunic. As she was removing her undershirt, the noise in the water below stilled. She peered over the edge and saw that he was floating on his back, his waist beneath the water (unfortunately), his arms spread out and his eyes closed.

Well, she _thought_ they were closed. She stood up on the rock to get a better look at him. It was getting closer to full dark now, except for faint moonlight. It was entirely possible he had just narrowed his eyes and could still be watching her. Well, she figured there wasn’t much she could do about it if he was.

With relief, she unwound the long strip of cloth from around her chest and removed the last of her underclothes. Then, she sat on the edge of the rock and slid down into the water. It was freezing, but she didn’t care. She dipped under, rubbing her fingers through her filthy hair. When she surfaced, Boromir was treading water again, still a fair distance away from her.

“Tell me of your land,” he said as she pushed her hair out of her face.

“My land?”

“Yes, I am curious.”

“Well…” she tried to figure out where to start. “Arnor is very wild. We do not have many permanent settlements. Only a few small villages. Many groups move around, with the seasons.” She paused. “It can get very cold.”

“And where you live more recently?”

“A small cabin on the coast. The oceans all along there are very wild. I watch over some smaller settlements of hobbits.”

“Do they know you?”

“No.”

He paused a while, considering this. “Are all your family engaged thus?”

“No. My sister remains with the clan. With my mother.”

He nodded. “And you never married?”

He said it casually, though the tone struck her as slightly forced.

“Erm—no.”

He cocked his head and clearly wanted more details, but didn’t want to press her.

“There was someone once,” she said awkwardly, not even wanting to go too near those thoughts. “But no.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “How about you? Why have you not married?”

He laughed. “My father has tried to arrange it for me, many times. But I have been too occupied with my command, and too often away from the city. It would not be right to marry someone and then see her only rarely.”

She really wanted to know if he was a virgin or not. It seemed absurd that he could be, at his age, but his was a very traditional society—it was possible. “So, you haven’t ever… you know… err—” she didn’t want to seem course, but she didn’t know how to put it. Her people were not so precious about relationships.

He was waiting, curious. “What?”

“You know— _courted_ a lady?” she asked vaguely.

He laughed. “You wish to know if I am honourable, or a cad?”

She wasn’t sure exactly what he meant, but nodded anyway.

He shook his head. “I have courted some women, when I was younger, but as I said, it never felt fair to take it any further. And I have always had my brother as a studious chaperone.”

She nodded. That didn’t really answer her question.

“Come, we shouldn’t tarry too long. You will want the soap.”

“Oh, yes.”

He held it out to her, absurdly, because they were still a fair distance from each other. Slightly nervous, she moved towards him, careful not to lift out of the water any further than her shoulders. “Thank you for doing this. It was very thoughtful of you.”

“My pleasure, my lady.”

She came close enough for him to pass the soap and she reached for it. Their fingers touched, and his hand lingered for a moment longer, and it felt like a bolt of electricity passed between them. He met her eyes. Neither of them spoke. She wished she could close the distance between them. Instead, he turned abruptly and made for the rocks.

She turned her back and quickly soaped up, scrubbing her hair furiously.

When she was finished, she climbed out, finding him standing dressed, with his back turned. She dried off as much as she could, then pulled on her clean clothes, still slightly damp.

She sat on the rock to pull her boots on. “I’m dressed,” she said. He turned around. “It feels good to be clean.”

“This might be your last opportunity. Soon we will be in the mines.”

“Yes. And thanks for—you know—escorting me. Even though I know you peeked.”

She grinned. He put on a shocked expression.

“I’ve no idea what you mean.” She caught the humour dancing in his eyes. “Although, truthfully, I didn’t fully believe that you were a maiden.”

“And I trust it’s been confirmed now?”

He grinned slyly. “Oh yes.”

“So you _did_ look!” She finished with her boots and stood to face him.

He put a hand on his heart, looking offended. “I didn’t say that. As a male, I can sense it merely from being nearby you.”

Cin rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah? Then how come you couldn’t tell before?”

He lowered his head, and then looked back up at her through his eyelashes in what she suspected was a practiced move, and said, “Oh, I simply couldn’t say.”

 

Soon they started on their journey through the Mines.

She knew it wouldn’t be for long, but she hated every second in the mines. She hated the close air, the constant darkness, and the claustrophobia that grew with every passing hour.

When they finally paused to sleep, Gandalf said they couldn’t risk a fire, so they all slept in a tightly huddled group.

At the start of the journey, the sleeping arrangements had shuffled around a bit, but gradually they had become more set, and by now invariable. The Hobbits huddled together, Gandalf never seemed to sleep at all, and the rest of them slept more or less in a row - Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn, Cin, then Boromir. Even before, when they were constantly fighting, Boromir slept nearby her and Aragorn, probably just picking the spot according to race.

Tonight, everyone huddled closer for warmth. They sat against the wall rather than lying flat; the hard stone floor was extremely uncomfortable, and besides, no one wanted to sleep too deeply in this dangerous place. Cin sat with Aragorn and Boromir’s arms pressed up against her on either side, which was not unpleasant. Despite that, she was freezing, and the cold stone behind and underneath her seemed to seep through her bones. Soon she was shaking, and she couldn’t seem to warm up.

After the others quieted down, Cin’s shuddering breath was still audible in the dead silence of the Mines, and she couldn’t make herself stay still, she was shivering too badly. She felt movement beside her and tried to peer through the pitch blackness towards Boromir.

Slowly, so as to not make too much noise, he lifted his arm and put it around her shoulders, resting heavily around her and tugging her closer against him.

He threw his blanket over her and let his hand rest lightly on her ribcage. Cin’s heart exploded into a frantic rhythm and she found herself frozen; she didn’t know where to put her left hand, so left it kind of hovering under the blanket. In an impatient movement, Boromir reached across and grasped it and sat it on his chest, then let his hand drop into his lap, and to all appearances, went back to sleep.

_What was this?_ She wondered. Was this something he would do for anyone who was shivering next to him on the stone floor, or was it just because she was a girl?

It wasn’t a romantic gesture - he hadn’t done it tenderly. He had done it clearly because she was keeping him awake with her shivering. _But still..._

She couldn’t bring herself to react; she lay stiffly in the position he’d pulled her into, not daring to move and risk rubbing against him in any way. She barely allowed herself to breathe. After a few minutes he shifted slightly against her, and breathed in her ear as quiet as possible, “Sleep, Cin.”

She forced herself to calm down. She took several deep breaths—not too deep, or he would feel it—and then carefully shifted around slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position with her hip still on the stone floor. His warmth was already leaking through their clothes and into her, and her shivering became gradually less frequent, and then stopped. She sighed in relief as her body finally relaxed, and nuzzled against his shoulder—then immediately froze once she realised what she was doing. He didn't react; in fact, by the slow rate at which his chest was moving under her hand, he was already asleep. She settled and soon fell asleep as well.

Cin wondered all through the next day if he would do the same thing again that night, and didn’t want to get her hopes up—she shouldn’t be thinking about him that way at all, anyway. She prepared herself for a cold night.

But when they finally stopped to rest, and everyone started to settle into their standard sleeping configuration, Cin lay down and then Boromir came a moment later, lying down and immediately pulling her to him. She knew she shouldn’t have, but she grasped his tunic in the hand pressed against his chest, and felt like she was doing something forbidden.

 

The final day in the Mines was the most painful.

 

Cin had thought that of all of them, Gandalf was the least likely to fall, and she couldn’t really completely accept that it had happened.

Gandalf disappeared into the chasm, and Frodo was screaming, and Boromir was yelling. Legolas grasped Cin’s tunic and tugged her up the stairs until her legs started moving on their own. She rounded the corner and Pippin had staggered to a halt—she grabbed his arm and tugged him forward. Boromir was behind her, carrying Frodo in his arms. The doorway was ahead of them.

They all burst out into the afternoon light. Frodo ran ahead and Boromir grabbed Gimli when he suddenly started to turn back, dragging him forward. She looked around at the Fellowship as they drew to a halt, spread out over the rocks while they paused for breath and came to a stop herself, her legs giving out. She sat right where she stopped and put her head in her hands.

Aragorn was shouting instructions but she couldn’t quite hear. She found herself frozen, unable to move. She felt like the balrog was sitting right on her chest, like she was under so much pressure she might just be crushed. Gandalf couldn’t be gone—he just couldn’t.

Boots came to a halt on the ground in front of her, and then Boromir crouched down into her sight.

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at his face, and saw tears on his cheeks, the same as hers. She gasped as she realised abruptly that he was feeling the same as her—that all of them were—and somehow, some of the pressure released.

He leaned forward to put his arms under hers and lifted her to her feet, but she couldn’t quite get her legs to stabilise under her, and he held her for a moment against his chest until she managed to stand on her own.

Then the group was gathering together and he turned away and they all started off down the mountainside, together. He hadn’t said anything to her and yet he had somehow given her more relief than any words could have. An uncomfortable feeling was growing inside her, one she had studiously avoided for many years—she knew she could never have come through the Mines on her own, but more than that, she didn’t mind.


	6. Resting

When they finally reached the woods of Lothlorien, a squad of elves brought them to a flet up in the trees. They all collapsed on the wooden platform, exhausted, and Cin pulled out her healer's kit and went around everyone, checking them for wounds. Most of them had minor things—scratches and grazes. When she reached Boromir she noticed for the first time that he had bound his left hand with a bandage which was now soaked through with blood.

“Let me see that,” she said, sitting down next to him and reaching for his hand.

“It is fine…” he said, holding it to his chest. “Help the others, Cin.”

“I have seen all the others already,” she replied. “Come, let me see.” She reached forward and grasped his wrist, pulling it over and carefully unwrapping his bandage. He had been slashed by a blade across the back of his hand.

“This must be very painful,” she said, glancing up at him, but he was tight-lipped.

“It is nothing.”

She concentrated on the wound, cleaning it and applying some healing salve. He did not even flinch as she put in two stitches. She re-bound it and he thanked her.

 

The next day they were allowed to proceed into the elven city, and by sunset they were presented to the Lady Galadriel.

She spoke uncomfortable truths into each of their heads, and before they were long departed from her presence, they were arguing about their plans again.

“I would prefer to move on from here quickly,” Boromir muttered.

“The Hobbits need to rest. They are not used to constant travel like us,” Cin pointed out.

“We could all use rest,” Aragorn said. “At least a few weeks, to recover our strength.”

Boromir turned away, his shoulders hunched angrily. Cin rolled her eyes.

“We were almost overrun with orcs when we got here, Boromir, or have you forgotten? Would you prefer to take your chances out there?”

He spun and said, “You are both very quick to trust these elves, but what do you know of them, really? This place gives me a bad feeling, and I trust my own instincts.”

Cin smirked across at Aragorn. “I think the Lady Galadriel must have said something to him that he didn’t like. Did she wound your pride, Boromir?”

“I have not questioned you on the words she spoke to you, so I’d thank you to pay me the same courtesy,” Boromir said loudly.

“I didn’t ask what she said, only if that was the reason for your foul mood,” Cin shot back, “Although I suppose I should realise by now that it’s your standard temperament.”

Boromir took an angry step towards her and Cin was ready to meet him head-on, but Aragorn grabbed her arm and tugged her in the opposite direction.

“That’s enough, Cin,” he said. “Leave Boromir alone for once.”

“He is infuriating,” she muttered as Aragorn marched her off on a walk through the wood.

“I am afraid to say you were the one who picked that fight, Cin,” Aragorn said flatly, and she deflated slightly.

“I did?”

He glanced across at her, pausing a moment before responding. “You seem anxious.”

She took a breath and for the first time recognised that he was right—she _did_ feel anxious and stressed. It was thoughts of Gandalf, but it was more than that, and she didn’t really want to delve into the reasons. Strangely enough, she ran into Boromir again later that night when she was exploring the area around their campsite, and he sighed with resignation when he saw her.

“Come to berate me some more, lass?” he asked. He was leaning on a railing overlooking a pond, the moonlight reflecting off the water.

“No,” Cin said, pausing, and then hesitantly walking over to join him. “I’m sorry about earlier; I was rude. I think I’m getting the same bad feeling about this place as you.”

He looked up at her from the railing. “Truly? Then... it is not just me?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I have some things going on in my head - for a while I guess—and since we got here I’m finding it hard to ignore them, like I usually do.”

Boromir nodded urgently. “Me as well. Exactly as you described. Do you think the Lady Galadriel’s words are what caused it, or the woods themselves?”

“I don’t know.” She leaned on the railing next to him, grumpily. “The problem is, what she said to me was right. It’s just not easy to accept.”

“What was it?” he asked, then immediately shook his head. “I mean - you do not have to tell me, it is your own affair.”

“It’s alright. Maybe if I tell you, you will be able to point out how ridiculous I am being - you have a talent for that.” This drew a small smile from him, and she continued. “She told me I am selfish and proud, and must learn to serve others. I responded, saying that I have done nothing but serve others for years by taking up a posting at a remote outpost and defending the borders, but she said I didn’t do that for anyone but myself. That I—I ran away, after… well, when people might have needed me, and worse, I dressed it up as duty. I wanted to be alone.”

She lapsed into silence for a moment and Boromir waited, patiently, watching her.

“And now I feel anxious because I’m starting to realise that… I don’t want to be alone anymore.” She looked over at him. “It’s been so long since I’ve had friends like this—since I’ve let myself rely on anyone else for anything. And now that I’ve had it, I’m worried I won’t be able to go back.”

“Must you go back?” Boromir asked gently, after a moment.

“My experience of life is that you don’t get to choose,” she said flatly. “Sometimes you are left alone and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“So you took ownership of that and convinced yourself you didn’t mind,” he said, and she nodded.

Boromir reached over and put a hand on her forearm, comfortingly. “You have no need to fear that anymore. If all else fails, come to Gondor, and I will find a place for you. I will… give you a position training my troops, perhaps. Something. And I am sure any other member of the Fellowship would say the same. You need not return to the life you lead before, if that is not your wish.”

Unexpectedly, Cin felt emotion rising in her chest, but she pushed it down, breathing through her nose. Boromir squeezed her arm once and then withdrew.

“Thank you, Boromir, I… That means a lot to me.”

He shook his head briefly as though to brush off her words. Then he took a breath.

“I also was given an uncomfortable truth. She told me that there was still hope for Gondor in this war, but that my father....” he struggled. “That my father would turn against his own people before the end. I was horrified by her words, but at the same time, I realised that I cannot rule out the possibility. He has changed, and sometimes I question his motivations. I am terrified that the day may come when the people will look to me to overthrow him, but I do not know if I have that in me.” He looked across at her, eyes wide. “He is my _father_ ,” he said. “I love him.”

Cin grimaced, shaking her head. “That is difficult,” she agreed, and earnestly applied her mind to his problem. After a moment of thought, she said slowly, “If you were in your father’s place, and were making poor decisions—perhaps you did not even realise—would you not wish your sons to correct you, and take over if need be?”

He looked over at her. “Yes, I would. If I had a son, I would want him to take his place as my successor as soon as the time is right.”

“Then I think your father would forgive you, as well.”

“I hope so.”

They lapsed into silence, and stood looking over the pond for several more minutes. Finally, Boromir stretched and straightened. “I think I will retire,” he said, and Cin stood up as well.

“Yes, me too.”

He offered his arm, elbow out, and Cin froze, staring at it. “Erm—” she said awkwardly, reaching her hand forward but unsure where to put it. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her wrist with his other hand and tugged her into the correct position.

“Are there no gentlemen at all where you come from?” he muttered, teasing.

“Evidently not,” she said, enjoying the feel of his bicep under her palm. She had never walked with her hand on a man’s arm before, that was for sure, and she was a little unsure about how to step, but he seemed experienced enough that it didn’t matter. The position put her closer to him than she’d realised, and she couldn’t say she disliked it.

 

Most of the group were so exhausted they did little more than sleep for several days.

In daylight hours, Cin spent some time guiltily watching Boromir’s sleeping face as he lay nearby her.

She admired his strong jaw, and she liked the stubborn-looking dimple beneath his bottom lip. His beard looked better now that it was less sculpted and more rough - it made him look friendlier. However, the main thing she liked—although she barely allowed herself to think it, it was more of a thought she imagined herself having—was his lips. She lay staring at his mouth for several minutes at a time, and if his lips moved at all in his sleep it sent a strange thrill through her. Every time, as soon as she realised what she was doing, she snapped out of it and rolled over. But it still kept happening.

It was ridiculous. It wasn’t like she would ever come anywhere near those lips in reality. She wasn’t the type of girl he’d be interested in—she was probably more male than female in his eyes since he’d thought her male for the majority of their relationship. And looking like a boy wasn’t exactly an alluring trait, she was sure.

Gradually, everyone recovered and became less lethargic. Aragorn grieved for longer than the rest of them, it seemed—he wasn’t interested in hanging out with anyone. To her surprise, and pleasure, Boromir wanted to spend time with her. They sparred, and they went on walks, and they talked. Boromir asked many questions about her life. He was constantly both amused and curious about her decision to travel disguised as a man.

“You could surely reveal yourself to the rest of the Fellowship, now,” he suggested one day. “There’s no need to continue in disguise, especially as we continue further into the wilderness. If we take the route Aragorn seems to intend, we will pass through no other settlements at all.”

Cin considered, then squirmed at the idea. “I’d feel embarassed to tell them. And… I don’t want them to treat me differently.”

“Why did you start out doing it?”

“Safety. A woman travelling alone is a target.”

Boromir nodded gravely. “I understand.”

They walked in silence a while, then he said, in a lighter voice. “I am only relieved our situations are not reversed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I would make a very ugly woman.”

Cin burst into laughter. “Well, it didn’t work that well. You thought me a rather pathetic-looking man, if you remember.”

Boromir’s gaze dropped to his feet, and she was impressed with his rare show of guilt. “I did. A small man, but at least a fair-faced one.” He smirked at her a moment. “Truthfully, I was more angry at Aragorn for bringing such a young lad on a quest such as this. I have seen far too many young lads struck down on their first sortie—I have made significant changes in the training methods of Minas Tirith’s armies, so that recruits receive more training and experience in non-complex situations before being put anywhere truly dangerous.”

Cin cocked her head at him, interested in this different side of his personality. “That is admirable.”

He shrugged. “Before I took command, the entire structure was mired in old-fashioned methods. Old men giving orders, who hadn’t experienced true battle in decades. As the numbers of orcs grew, we had to adapt or we would have been destroyed long ago.”

“Your love for your city is admirable,” Cin said. “I wish I felt the same about my home.”

“You have no wish to return?”

“No. Not really. But I will have to, I suppose, eventually.”

Boromir grasped her arm. “You don’t have to. You know my offer.”

Cin grimaced, then smiled. “I know.”

“What is it?”

“Just my arm,” she said through gritted teeth.

Boromir’s eyes narrowed and he looked down at her arm, still in his grasp. He reached down and tugged up her sleeve. Underneath were several red and purple welts along the inside of her forearm.

He smirked. “When were you practising your archery?”

“Yesterday morning,” she admitted.

“Your bow technique is terrible.”

“Thanks for pointing that out,” she muttered, irritably.

He ran a thumb gently over the welts, the smirk fading. “You are locking your arm out when you draw. You need to bend slightly at the elbow. It’s not just to avoid these—the string hitting your arm can divert the course of the arrow. It will throw off your aim.”

“Well, I don’t have much of that to begin with,” she said lightly, and he smiled.

“We could practise together,” he offered, “Though I know you usually do that with Aragorn…”

Cin shook her head. “Aragorn hasn’t talked to me for days. He needs more time. Besides, I know now you are a very good teacher.”

He smiled warmly at that. “Alright.” He was still gently grasping her arm. Cin glanced down at it, and he let it drop, belatedly.

 

They went to the archery range the next morning. Boromir emptied his quiver quickly, each arrow almost shaving the previous one in half, he was that accurate. Cin managed to hit the target—mostly. She did not enjoy archery, she found it boring and frustrating, and soon she was growling in annoyance as her perfectly aimed arrow hit the far edge of the target.

“Straighten your back,” Boromir suggested, watching her technique. She drew again, but he just shook his head, walking closer. “No, like this.”

He stood behind her, close enough that his chest pressed against her back, and reached along her arm, re-angling her elbow, her shoulder. “There,” he said, his voice close in her ear. “Feel that? Let your back do the work, not your arms.”

She nodded jerkily, struggling to concentrate on anything he was telling her with him standing this close.

“Loose,” he directed. She let the arrow fly, and it hit the target, but—

“Ow!” she yelled, lowering her bow and clapping her hand over her right forearm where the string had once again smacked her sharply.

Boromir just laughed, and grabbed her arm, tugging the sleeve up again to see the fresh red mark. He looked up to meet her eyes.

“I think we need to get you some bracers,” he said, smirking, but he closed his cool palm over the bruise, which helped. “Your grip—”

“I _know_ ,” she cut him off, annoyed. He smirked but didn’t press the issue, and she waited, watching him. He still had her arm in both of his, rubbing with his thumb very softly.

She swallowed. “I— I guess I should try again.”

He didn’t reply straight away. She waited, feeling increasingly awkward, until he drew a breath, about to say something—

“Boromir!”

He dropped her arm quickly, and turned. Gimli was striding across the archery range, and he launched into a commentary on his problems finding sword polish of sufficient quality from the elves before he had even reached them, and the moment was gone. Boromir glanced back at her once, regretful, as they packed up their bows.


	7. Travelling

Before too long, they were preparing to leave. Aragorn had decided the route—they were to take boats down the river and hope to outrun the enemy. As they re-commenced their journey, it was with little of the lightheartedness that they had before. The mines were still weighing heavily on everyone, and without Gandalf’s leadership, everyone was a little unsure what would happen. But Aragorn stepped up into that position easily, something she had seen him do many times before, and she trusted him to lead them right.

Nevertheless, the journey was solemn and everyone had the feeling of being watched constantly.

One night Cin was half asleep when she heard raised voices over by the water, and she sat up, reaching for her sword in case there was trouble, but a moment later Boromir stomped over to his bedroll and started toeing off his boots and laying down his belt before lying down.

“Is all well?” she asked quietly as he lay down next to her.

“I was merely questioning Aragorn as to why we should not travel to Minas Tirith. It would be far safer than the road he has chosen. He is not willing to brook any argument, though I doubt Gandalf meant for us to travel through the marshes. It is insane—no one can pass through there. We will likely be months wandering in circles.”

Cin looked down at him. “I agree with Aragorn—” she started.

“Of course you do,” he bit back.

Cin scowled. “Can’t you feel it, Boromir?” she said in a low voice. “The Ring is pulling on all of us. It is difficult enough for us, this small group, to convey it. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for Frodo. But if we were to bring it into a large city full of men? I believe that is asking for trouble.”

“No one would need to know it was there,” he retorted. “We could enter and leave in secrecy, if need be. Is it my word you doubt, or my position?”

“Can you two not wait to hold your beloved argument until the morning?” Gimli’s voice came loudly from the other side of the fire, and they both quietened. Cin lay down, turning to face him, his eyes bright in the firelight.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “Aragorn will not lead us astray. I promise.”

He didn’t reply.

 

When the orcs finally caught up with them, they were completely unprepared. The group had split off, some searching for firewood, others exploring the area—the attack could not have come at a worse time. She split from Legolas and Gimli as they ran uphill, having a feeling she’d seen Merry and Pippin wandering off in the opposite direction.

She arrived at the top of the rise just in time to see an arrow slam into Boromir’s chest.

“No!” she yelled out, without thinking, looking wildly around until she found the archer.

She didn’t let it draw a second time.

Only a few seconds passed between when she saw it and when she took out its knee. She slammed into it with a running jumping kick—right into the side of its leg. She felt bone snap underneath her foot.

However, that wasn’t enough to finish it. With only one leg to support it, it still grabbed for its knife and spun to attack her, but she was more than ready. She disarmed it mid spin, the strike enough to overbalance it, and before it even hit the ground she’d buried the knife in its throat.

For good measure, she grabbed the bow and snapped it in half with her foot—it took a few tries, it was so thick.

She returned to the fray, taking out more of the Uruks as she ploughed through to Boromir’s side. He was still fighting, so she figured the arrow must have missed his heart, but he was struggling. She put her back to his and they took on the Uruks together. Merry and Pippin stood behind them, leaping in to finish off the orcs that Boromir and Cin threw to the ground. But there were just too many of them—they were almost overwhelmed. Before long, they couldn’t stop them all from getting past. Cin was fighting for her life just to stay on her feet and not get plowed down by them—her sword was a slashing blur but her area of effect was no more than the meter or so in front of her. If Boromir failed, she would be killed from behind with no warning, but she couldn’t spare even a glance over her shoulder.

There was yelling behind her—Merry and Pippin. Boromir yelled ‘No!’ but she couldn’t tell what was happening. The orcs weren’t trying to attack her now, they were only running by and defending themselves as they passed her, but they were on the retreat.

“What happened?” she yelled out.

“They took them—Merry and Pippin,” Boromir gasped over his shoulder to her, and Cin’s heart sank.

“And Frodo and Sam? Did you see them?”

“I know not,” he replied, grunting as he blocked another attacker. Cin was exhausted. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she had never been in such an intense fight before. She had certainly never faced so many orcs before with so small a force. And they weren’t regular orcs, either—they were tall and massive, like another breed altogether.

She was gasping for air as the final few fled, and then Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas joined them, chasing the tail of the horde. Cin finally lowered her sword and turned to Boromir in time to catch him as he staggered. Aragorn grabbed his other arm and they lowered him to the ground. Blood was flowing freely from his wound.

“They took Merry and Pippin,” Cin told the others urgently. “Did you see Frodo and Sam?”

“They crossed the river, to continue their journey alone,” Aragorn said, taking his knife to cut open Boromir’s clothes; blood had spread through his tunic around the arrow wound. Cin absorbed this news as she reached for the small pouch of emergency healing items on her belt and threw it open on the forest floor. She passed Aragorn the first clean cloth, falling easily back into their routine, but then Boromir grasped Aragorn’s wrist.

“Stay still,” Aragorn said, but Boromir didn’t let him go.

“I tried to take the ring from Frodo,” he admitted, his voice thick. “I have failed you all.” He looked from Aragorn to Cin desperately and she couldn’t quite believe the uncharacteristic loss of pride.

“No, Boromir,” Aragorn said steadily. “You fought bravely. The Ring is beyond our reach now, and it is probably for the better. We have all felt its pull, especially today.”

“But I was the only one who succumbed,” he said, wretchedly. “I was the weakest of the Fellowship, as the Lady Galadriel predicted.”

Aragorn took Boromir’s hand and moved it aside gently. “Do not speak so, Boromir. Nothing is yet lost.” He bent to examine the wound and Cin started threading a needle, planning ahead.

“All is lost,” he said, tears growing in his eyes, “if such a force is to be set upon the realm of men and my city.”

“Boromir,” Aragorn cut him off. “I swear to you, I will not let the white city fall, or our people suffer.”

“Our people,” Boromir repeated reverently, looking up at Aragorn with pride.

Aragorn’s hand was closing around the base of the arrow, getting a good grip, and he met Cin’s eyes. Cin took the queue and wordlessly shifted her position, putting her knees on Boromir’s ribs and shoulder, and her hands on his head, pressing down to stop him from moving. He met her eyes; he knew what was coming. Cin didn’t break her gaze as Aragorn carefully pulled the arrow free.

To his credit, Boromir didn’t make a sound, he just clenched his jaw and breathed heavily through his nose. When it was out, Cin let go of the pressure and stroked his hair back from his face while Aragorn put pressure on the wound with another cloth, waiting for the fresh bleeding to slow again.

Boromir was growing more and more pale, which worried her. “Cin,” he said softly. “You saved my life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied gently.

“No,” he replied harshly. “The archer would have killed me had you not taken him down, and I would have been overwhelmed had you not joined me. I am in your debt.”

Cin frowned and didn’t reply. She returned her attention to Aragorn, who passed her a water skein. She knew this routine well. She poured the water very carefully, intermittently with him dabbing around the wound with a clean cloth, clearing away the blood and revealing the wound cleanly. Though it was severe, she didn’t think it was fatal.

“Cin,” Aragorn said as he took the needle and thread from her. “You are my equal in the healing arts. I need you to take care of Boromir, while I pursue Merry and Pippin.”

Cin squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want the group to break up like this at all. But she restrained her immediate reaction, which was to argue. She understood that Aragorn was making the best decision for the group.

“Where should we go?” she asked, finally.

“Boromir,” Aragorn said, distracting him from the stitches he was making, “if we were to take a boat to the bottom of the falls for you to continue down the river, would you travel safe into Gondor?”

“Yes,” Boromir replied. “The Ithilien garrison has a permanent encampment on the river upstream of the city. My brother is likely there.”

“Then we will assist you down the falls and send you on your way,” Aragorn told them both. He finished up the final stitch and started to sit back.

“Aragorn—” Boromir said, grasping his wrist again. “What can I do, once I am recovered? I will follow your orders. Should I prepare Gondor for war?”

Aragorn looked at him sharply. Cin understood the meaning behind these words as well; Boromir had finally accepted Aragorn as his King. He grasped Boromir’s other shoulder.

“Yes, that would be wise. I will send word of my movements to Minas Tirith, so that you might know what to expect, and what we find at the end of the trail we follow.”

Boromir nodded, and Aragorn and Cin cleared up the healing materials. Then they helped him to his feet. He moved his left arm and immediately grunted in pain as it pulled on his wound. Cin grasped his upper arm hard. “Don’t move it,” she warned. “You’ll pull the stitches. Here…”

She loosened his tunic and took his wrist, carefully pushing it inside like a sling.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still unsteady, his face very pale. He was hunched over with the pain, shivering slightly, sweat dripping off his hair.

“Come,” Cin said, turning and walking close beside him back to the boats, watching in case he stumbled.

By the time they got there, Legolas had already taken one of the boats and started down the ancient stairs to the bottom of the falls. Gimli had re-packed a bag with everything she might need, and passed it to her. She shouldered it, thanking him. The others wouldn’t be carrying much with them—they wanted to travel as fast as possible.

“Take it slowly down the stairs,” Aragorn warned Boromir, who nodded. Aragorn grasped both their shoulders and looked from one to the other. “Travel safe. We will see each other soon, I am certain.”

Cin nodded, her throat closing up and not letting her say anything. Aragorn pulled her in to him. She hugged him tightly.

“Be careful,” she said, her voice muffled against his tunic.

“We will.”

“I’ll take care of him, lad, don’t you worry,” Gimli said.

She took a deep breath and turned to grasp Gimli’s shoulder, and then Legolas was back already, and they farewelled him, and the three of them started off at a run, and she stood watching them disappear through the trees, trying desperately to prevent the tears about to spill over.

She stood for several moments, breathing hard, furiously trying to control herself.

Finally she turned. “We’d better get going then,” she said in a gruff voice and started off in the direction of the stairs, but he stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

“I’m sorry, Cin,” he said. “I’m sorry for being the reason you are held back from continuing with the group.”

She shook her head and looked up at him. “You are part of the group too, Boromir,” she said, and was surprised to find that she genuinely meant it.

“I owe you many times over,” he said. “I am not worthy of it. Forgive me.”

She smiled gently at his destitute expression. “There is nothing to forgive. Are we not friends? Come, let’s go. The sooner we get you off your feet, the better.”

They made their way down the stairs very slowly. Some were so large that it was necessary to scramble down them; she took to going first and then giving him a reverse hitch to aid him down, folding her fingers together and taking his boot. He wasn’t light; it was hard work.

Her legs were shaking before they were half way down, and Boromir was pale and drenched in sweat. He was growing weaker, and she was worried about him. Taking his boot became not enough, the lower they got. She tried wrapping her arms tightly around his thighs or his waist and lowering him that way, but it took all her strength to do it. They stopped to rest three times, and Cin was constantly aware that there might still be orcs around the area, and could do nothing more than pray that they wouldn’t encounter any.

Their luck held. Finally, they made it to the bottom, and found the boat Legolas had carried down for them. Cin helped Boromir in and wedged the pack in behind him, so that he could rest his head on it. Then she pushed them out into the shallows and jumped in, starting to paddle, pushing past her aching muscles. She was keen to put as much distance as she could between them and the falls, as quickly as possible.

  
  


Boromir quickly grew less and less responsive, and she leaned forward to feel his face periodically, her heart sinking as his temperature started to rise.

Worse, they hadn’t slipped past the orcs as she’d hoped. They appeared along the riverbank before many hours had passed, and started running alongside the boat, shooting arrows and some trying to swim out to them. Luckily, the current was too strong, but the arrows were a serious problem.

After hours of this, Cin was well beyond the point of exhaustion. Night had fell and truly fallen when they appeared once again on a rocky outcrop with their bows. Cin slid down into the boat again, her arse sliding off the seat and slamming onto the hard bottom of the boat, ducking her head down as the arrows shot over.

Resolutely, she uncapped the water skein and carefully moved forward enough to reach Boromir’s head, dripping a little water past his lips, and then sliding back again and picking up her bow, moving automatically. She nocked while still ducked down and waited for the next volley to fly over before quickly jumping up, drawing and releasing, and then throwing herself down again. She heard the thud of an arrow slamming into the side of the boat and prayed it hadn’t penetrated the hull.

She reached for another arrow, wary that they wouldn’t last forever, and nocked—and noticed vaguely that her hand was slippery. She looked down at it and was surprised to find blood. She didn’t know where she was bleeding or how it had happened, but she set it aside in her mind. She didn’t have time to deal with that right now.

She jumped up to let off another shot, and saw that the boat had passed the orcs by for now, but they were starting to veer off course—the boat would drift over to the shore if she didn’t do something. She picked up the oar again.

She stroked, and grunted in pain—glancing at her hand, she remembered the bleeding again, and again ignored it. No arrows were flying at her, and she needed to take advantage of this time to get in as many strokes as possible.

Her blinks were growing longer and longer, and the river started passing by in broken stretches. She jerked her head occasionally, waking for a moment, enough to add a stroke or two in the right direction, and then faded out again. They travelled through the night. She pulled a sleeping blanket over Boromir, up to his nose, and tricked water in his mouth occasionally. When the current was carrying them reliably forward, she shuffled forward in the boat to check his wound and sometimes apply more herbs.

They came upon men just as dawn was breaking.

“I hope these are the right people,” she muttered, angling the boat toward the shore and waving to a soldier collecting water at the bank.

“Who goes there?” he called out.

“I am Cinir of the North, and I carry with me Lord Boromir of Gondor.”

“Lord Boromir?” the man exclaimed, wading out into the shallows to grab the stern of the boat and haul them ashore.

“He is gravely injured,” Cin explained. “We need assistance.”

“Of course!” he exclaimed, his wide eyes looking over the blood soaked through Boromir’s tunic, and he turned to wave to some other men further up the shore, who came running.

“I am part of Lord Faramir’s detachment. I will send word to him straight away.”

“Thank you,” Cin said hoarsely, relieved beyond measure.

The other men crowded around, hauling the boat all the way up the shore, and Cin jumped out. She could finally step back and let them take over. They brought a stretcher, called for the medic, and Cin trailed after them as they took Boromir through their encampment to a large tent.

She followed them inside and watched as they transferred him to a bed, and two medics were immediately on him, cutting off his tunic and ordering supplies to be brought. Looking around at the rich furnishings, Cin realised through the fog of her mind that this must be Faramir’s own tent. No one was paying too much attention to her, so she sat heavily in the nearest chair. She was asleep within minutes.


	8. Recovering

When Cin woke, she had the feeling she'd slept for hours. She stretched hugely as her eyes gradually adjusted, looking for Boromir. He was asleep in the bed, and his clothes had all been changed over to thin white cotton, a small red stain over his heart where his wound was still weeping.

She got to her feet unsteadily and staggered across to him, gripping furniture as she crossed the tent, feeling light-headed. She noticed with some surprise that her hand was thickly bandaged, but forgot about it when she got to Boromir’s side. She knelt down beside his bed, afraid to touch him, but could see his chest rising and falling slowly with his breath, and felt unexpected emotion rise in her chest, and realised that this whole time she had not truly believed that he would survive, that she would be able to save him, but it looked like somehow, she had… and then she felt eyes on her and looked over her shoulder.

A man had appeared at the entrance to the tent who looked a little like Boromir but younger and not so broad, and she knew immediately it was Faramir, and then without warning a sob rose in her throat and she was suddenly crying hard.

She couldn't stop herself. Faramir quickly put down the bundle of clothes he was carrying and crossed the floor to her.

“I'm… I'm sor—”

She tried to apologise through her tears but could barely get the words out. He shook his head to say there was no need as he knelt down beside her and put a hand on her arm.

“Cin, isn’t it?” he said gently. “He told me your name.”

“H— he was awake?”

“Yes, not long ago. I am his br—”

“Faramir, I— I know. He talks about you a lot.”

He smiled, and grasped her arm warmly. “He will be alright, Cin. Thanks to you.”

This, for some reason, just made her cry harder. She was embarrassed and exhausted, and didn’t complain when, putting all propriety aside, he pulled her towards him and held her, and she sobbed into his chest.

It was less awkward than she’d feared and she was surprised how much simply being held by someone made her feel better. After a while, he spoke again.

“He told me of your journey from Amon Hen, and how you split with the group there. He said you stayed with him when you could have continued with your friends.” He hesitated. “He also told me your—secret, though he regretted it as soon as he realised. I won’t tell anyone. I believe I owe you a very great debt.”

She was starting to be able to draw breath properly again, so she pulled back a little from him, wiping her face on her arm. “It’s fine. And no, nothing is owed. I would have done the same for any member of the Fellowship.”

He smiled and offered her a handkerchief.

“Oh—thank you. I’m sorry, I don’t usually cry—ever, actually,” she said, relieved her voice was getting more under control.

“It’s alright,” he said simply, patiently. She turned back to Boromir, reaching to touch his forehead carefully, and was surprised to find it a normal temperature. She glanced back to Faramir, surprised, and he nodded.

“His fever broke yesterday.”

“So… he’s going to be okay?”

“Yes.”

She let her forehead drop into the edge of the mattress in relief and let out a long breath.

Faramir got to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. “I will order some food for you. You must be famished.”

 

Faramir gave instructions to a footman outside, and food was brought within minutes. Cold meats, bread and cheese, fruit, even some kinds of pastry, and wine. For the first time, Cin was getting an idea of the world Boromir had come from—wealth and privilege. And yet he had never complained even once about the hiking, camping, and meager meals of the past months.

She could barely bring herself to exercise basic table manners when she sat down in front of so much delicious food, but Faramir didn't seem to notice, busying himself with making tea. She stuffed herself. When she had slowed down a little, Cin told him about the whole quest from the start. He was very upset to hear about Gandalf, and explained that they had been rather close friends.

Healers came in at that moment to check on Boromir, and when they changed his dressings she couldn't stop herself going to watch, holding her breath as they peeled back the bandage, then letting it out in relief when she saw that it wasn't festering.

Before they were finished redressing the wound, Faramir was called away, and excused himself.

 

Faramir arranged for Cin to have her own tent, just opposite the one where Boromir was. She sat with Boromir late into the night, but it did not seem like he would wake up any time soon, so she took her leave.

The tent was nice—a real bed in the corner, and a bowl of hot water was brought soon after she entered. Surprised, she thanked the boy who brought it, and washed off the worst of the grime and bloodstains from her face and arms, before collapsing in the bed.

She was exhausted, and she expected to sleep straight away, but to her annoyance, she couldn’t sleep. The bed felt too soft, and she felt isolated and alone. She was so used to the Fellowship sleeping nearby her, with Aragorn on one side and Boromir on the other, and sleeping in a bed by herself just felt alien and wrong. She lay there for a few hours, but eventually got up and crossed the short distance back to Boromir’s side. No one stopped her. She dragged the more comfortable chair over to his bedside, and sat down and leaned forward to check his temperature and pulse.

It felt much better to be next to him again, like an anxiety that had built up inside her had let go. She released his wrist and leaned forward from her chair, resting her head on her arms on the edge of the mattress, and within seconds she was asleep.

She woke in the morning with an ache in her back from sleeping in that ridiculous position all night, but she had certainly slept well. She would have slept longer, but movement of the mattress stirred her. She blinked her eyes open and found Boromir’s watching her.

“You could not leave my side?” he joked, a grin on his face, and she sat up.

“You’re awake,” she breathed, reaching forward to feel his forehead and then his wrist.

“All thanks to you,” he said sincerely.

“Do not start,” she warned, gently moving his tunic aside to lift his dressing and peer at the wound.

He reached for her other hand, the bandaged one, turning it over to look at it.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I honestly can't remember.”

He frowned. “We were pursued down the river, were we not?”

“For a way, yes. They gave up closer to the encampment.”

“How much time has passed? There has been no word of the others?”

“Two days since we parted. No, nothing.”

She started to get to her feet. “I should go fetch your brother, he will want to see you.”

But Boromir grabbed her good hand, and tugged her back.

“Wait a moment. Cin, I have to thank you—” he said, and Cin sighed. “Please, let me,” he urged. “If there is anything I can offer you, just say the word.”

“It's fine, Boromir.”

He frowned. “How are you?” he asked, and she glanced back up to his face, surprised.

“Me? I’m fine.”

“You must be exhausted.”

“Well, I’ve slept almost as much as you, so I’ll be fine soon.”

“So you say, yet you seem sad.”

Cin hesitated. “I just…” she struggled for the words. “I miss the others,” she said, finally, with a shrug.

“And if not for me you would still be with them,” Boromir said, bitterly. “If I had not attacked Frodo… I have ruined it all.”

“No, Boromir, no. I do not blame you for that. The Ring had you in its sights, it was not your fault. I mean… look at you now, you seem different already.”

“I feel different. I feel like another being has been living inside me this whole time, and now I am finally free.” He swallowed. “Cin…”

“It's alright.”

A moment passed.

“I have been able to help you and that is the greatest gift you could give me. For the first time in years I have done something unselfish, and I have been rewarded with your survival. I am glad to be with you.”

Boromir grasped her hand and squeezed it for a moment. “I am glad you are with me, too.”

 

Days passed, and Boromir recovered, slowly. They both were desperate to go after Aragorn, and word had reached the encampment that there was to be a battle at Helm’s Deep; the armies of Isengard were marching to assault the Rohirrim. It wasn’t confirmed that Aragorn was there, but they both agreed he probably was; hopefully with Merry and Pippin safely recovered. Yet, they had to wait for Boromir to be well enough to travel.

Cin spent her days around the camp, speaking often with Faramir, and her evenings by Boromir’s bed, where she usually fell asleep, her clean, soft bed in the tent across the way going mostly unused.

Finally, the medic reluctantly agreed Boromir was probably well enough. He almost leapt out of his bed the second he was given permission, and they were discussing their route with Faramir by mid-morning.

“You must be careful,” Faramir warned. “The road between here and Minas Tirith is dangerous enough, let alone more remote paths.”

“I thought you said the orcs have not crossed the river?” Boromir asked, and Faramir shook his head.

“No, not orcs. Most of the families, women and children, have fled to Minas Tirith, and the only ones that are left on the roads and in the towns—well, you know the types. Those rough enough to not be worried enough yet to flee. There have been highwaymen and looting in the abandoned buildings.”

“They become so unruly so quickly,” Boromir said, disgusted, and Faramir shrugged.

“Well, it has been going on some time now. Do not forget how long you have been away, brother.”

Boromir sighed. “Then what do you suggest?”

“I suggest Cin retain her disguise. Two men travelling together are less of a target than a man and a woman, of course. But I also recommend you travel via towns where possible, and stay at inns with the doors barred; but stay off the roads, and if you camp, ensure you are well hidden. I hear many stories of travellers being robbed while they slept. Some thieves are liable to turn violent when challenged, and you never know how many of them there might be.”

 

They started out the next day. They had horses, but they still went slowly—Boromir couldn’t handle any faster gait than a fast walk, and certainly not a canter. Cin didn’t want his wound to open up again, so she didn’t mind. Still, the weather was poor, and they made slow progress. They were forced to camp out most nights, as they didn’t make it to a town, and they huddled in damp bedrolls, the horses close by. It was not an enjoyable trip.

Finally, when they were not far from Edoras, they made it to a small village in late afternoon. It had an inn, and they decided to stop, and cover the remaining distance the following day.

When they arrived, Boromir produced coins from a pouch—Cin suddenly wondered if he’d been carrying such a large amount of money this entire time—but then they were ushered inside and given hot drinks and a place by the fire while baths were drawn. They both dozed off where they sat until a maid came to wake them, and led them through the inn to the bathhouse.

They stepped into a room with two large wooden baths full of steaming water, steam rising and swirling around the ceiling, and wooden floorboards with gaps between them for the used water to run through.

“If you’ll please place all your clothing outside the door, I’ll have it cleaned. I’ll fetch some new clothes for the meantime.” She curtsied and left, closing the door behind her, and Boromir immediately started tugging off his boots and belt.

Cin turned to him. “How are we going to do this?” The two baths were right next to each other, there was no privacy at all.

Boromir waved her off. “I won’t look if you don’t,” he muttered. He turned his back to her and shucked his pants with a roll of his hips that made her swallow hard. He bent over, completely naked, to gather his clothes, which he bundled in front of his privates and turned back to her. “Cin?” he prompted, a very slight smirk on his lips.

Cin jolted. “Oh—right,” she said, turning her back.

He crossed the room to put his clothes outside the door, then a moment later she heard a splash as he jumped into the bath, and a deep sigh.

“Alright, I’m not looking.”

She turned back to face him, and he was relaxing in the bathtub, his eyes dutifully closed. She stripped off, bundled her clothes and carried them to the door. She even put out the bandage that she used to bind her chest. They would probably think it odd, but there was no way she could continue using it anyway—it reeked.

She crossed back to the tub and climbed in, sighing happily as the warm water covered her skin.

“Oh, wow,” she said as she relaxed back, and glanced across at Boromir. From here, she could only see him from neck up. “Why the heck were we arguing with Aragorn about staying behind?” she teased lightly. “This is surely far better than whatever the others are doing.”

“Yes,” he replied, sleepily.

She looked around at the shelf behind her, which held a few oils and ointments, all entirely unfamiliar. “Hm,” she muttered, hesitating.

He glanced across at her, then at his own shelf. He sat up and twisted, revealing his bare chest and arms, glistening wet. “This one has a bar of soap inside, and this one is for your hair.” He paused. “Cin?”

“Huh?” she wrenched her eyes away from his chest and saw that he was watching her with a knowing look.

“This one,” he repeated dryly, indicating one of the containers, before sliding back into the water.

Cin nodded and gulped, feeling heat pooling in her ears. She grabbed the soap and went to work, studiously scrubbing every inch of her skin, and trying to ignore Boromir doing the same.

Halfway through her task, the maid returned, stepping partway through the door and putting some clean clothes down for them.

“My Lords,” she said with a curtsy, then left.

Cin snorted after the door closed. “My Lords… Is that what I should be calling you around here?”

“That’s the standard term of address, yes,” Boromir replied mildly.

Cin blanched. “Er— Oh, you’re actually serious?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re surprised?”

“No, I just—I’m not used to it, I guess. Sorry. My Lord,” she added, teasing gently, and Boromir snorted softly.

“It doesn’t sound well on your tongue, lass—my name will suffice.”

“That’s a relief.”

When the water started to get cold, they took turns dressing while the other turned away. Clean, Boromir looked like a different person. He looked refreshed, and relaxed. They went down to dinner, and were served the most roast meat Cin had ever seen in her life, coupled with an unending stream of ale—bitter, and warm, but strong. Having not drunk a drop for months, they were both quickly affected by the alcohol. After dinner, they were sitting in a stupor of stuffed contentedness when, out of nowhere, a woman in an almost completely see-through shift, breasts practically bursting out of the top of it, plonked herself on Boromir’s lap.

“My Lord, can I do anything for you?” she asked solicitously.

To Cin’s horror, another came up behind her, running her hands over Cin’s shoulders. She stared at Boromir and saw his eyes light up with humour as he watched.

“We’re at your service, my Lords,” said the one behind Cin. Her hands moved a little low down the front of Cin’s shoulders, and she jumped, and Boromir snorted.

“Yes, anything you please,” the other said in a breathy voice, and to Cin’s utter shock, she reached up to tug a chord on her bodice, which fell open, baring her breasts right in Boromir’s face. He didn’t even look at them, he was too busy watching Cin’s horrified expression with barely veiled amusement.

The woman behind Cin came around in front of her and made to sit in her lap as well. Cin scooted her chair hastily backward, raising her hands as if to defend herself, scowling at the choked noise from Boromir’s direction.

“Er—my lady, er—” she tried to put on a deeper voice, completely at a loss for what to do in this situation.

Her face fell. “You think me too plain, sir?” she asked in a small voice.

“I—er—no, er—” she swallowed. “My leg—it’s injured. I wouldn’t support your weight—er—not that you’re heavy, I’m sure…”

She smiled and moved from between them to find another chair, revealing Boromir watching her with his hand clasped over his mouth, mirth dancing in his eyes.

The woman returned with a chair and sat extremely close to Cin, placing a hand on her thigh. “Is it this leg, my Lord? Perhaps I can help.”

She started rubbing Cin’s muscle and Cin jumped, a high pitched noise escaping her before she cleared her throat and said, “Oh—no, that’s not necessary…”

The woman gave a humph and stood up again, stomping off. Boromir burst into genuine laughter.

“Oh, Cin—you’ve broken her heart-” he managed to say.

“That’s alright, love,” the woman on Boromir’s lap said, reaching over to run a hand down Cin’s arm, “I can handle the two of you. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

“Yes, Cin, what would make you more comfortable?” Boromir teased. “Perhaps a kiss?”

Cin stared at him slack-jawed for a moment, barely able to believe he was doing this.

“You can have the kiss, Boromir, you look like you need it more.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the woman said, and leaned in to kiss him.

Cin immediately realised that this had backfired on her completely - Boromir let the woman kiss him, reciprocating just a little, and kept his eyes on Cin the whole time.

Cin swallowed hard, watching his mouth move against the other woman’s, feeling her heart rate increasing to an alarming rate.

Unsure exactly what she was going to do, she got to her feet, needing to get away—but the woman grasped her tunic and tugged her down into the nearer chair—the one the other woman had vacated—and before she knew what was happening, the woman took her lips off Boromir’s and straight onto Cin’s. She immediately tasted something that she somehow instinctively knew was the taste of him, and not the woman—masculine, and reminiscent of his scent—and she let out an involuntary whimper, part protest at the kiss, part pure desire for the man sitting opposite her.

Boromir’s eyes widened momentarily, and then, to her relief, he spoke up. “Our apologies, my lady, but we have an early start tomorrow.”

He placed his hands on the hips of the woman on his lap and deftly lifted her to her feet, releasing Cin from her firm grip on her tunic, completely oblivious to her breasts flopping almost right in his face.

“I think it is time to retire, ey lad?” he said, grasping Cin’s arm and dragging her after him out of the room. The crossed the tavern and made it halfway up the stairs before bursting into laughter. Boromir paused on the stairs, grasping Cin’s arm as he bent over, stifling his laughter from the women downstairs. Cin tried to fight back her own laughter.

“You took your time,” she said, punching him on his good arm. “Couldn’t you see I needed rescuing?”

“You? Rescuing? _Surely_ not,” he teased, seizing her around the neck and hauling her up the stairs.

“Argh!” Cin’s muffled yell sounded from under his arm. She reached over and got a grip on his chin, forcing it upwards and away so that he had to release the choke hold, ducking out from under his arm, but he pursued her and they scuffled as they made their way down the hall to their room, both a little affected by the alcohol.

At the doorway to their assigned room, Cin tried to get the keys from Boromir’s belt, but he seized her wrist and they spun, fighting for them until Cin’s back hit the door, Boromir’s hand grasping her wrist over her head against the wood.

His face was so close their noses were almost touching, and his gaze locked with hers. Without looking away, he took the keys from her, still trapping her against the door. She could easily escape—she just had to lock his ankle and drop him—but she didn’t want to.

Suddenly, he pressed up against her, the whole length of him, hard and warm. His lips brushed one ear, and a jingle of keys and a click sounded in her other ear, and suddenly she was falling.

The door had swung open behind her after he unlocked it and Cin had tumbled to the ground. Boromir burst into laughter, leaning against the door frame for support. Cin glared at him, speechless.

“Oh, come on, lass,” he said, reaching for her hand and hauling her to her feet. They both turned to face their room and realised at the same time one awkward fact: there was only one bed.

“Oh,” Cin said, and then both, at the same time, said, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Boromir rolled his eyes. “We’re not _both_ sleeping on the floor.”

“Well, then - you’re the gentleman, _you_ sleep on the floor,” Cin said, smirking.

Boromir looked affronted. “According to those women downstairs, you’re a gentleman too.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Cin huffed and pulled her belt off, then started tugging off her tunic and toeing off her boots, letting everything drop on the floor at her feet. “I’m so tired, I don’t care.”

She tugged her shirt over her head. She still had her undershirt and her breast band, so she wasn’t concerned about Boromir standing there, however, when her head cleared her tunic, she saw he was staring at her.

“Cin…” he said, awkward.

“What?” she exclaimed. “We were nude in the same room together only hours ago, are you saying you have a problem now?”

His face relaxed into a smirk. “You don’t mind sharing a bed with me?” he asked, a cocky note to his voice.

She shrugged. “It’s a big bed—how is it any different to our campsites the last two months?”

“...Good point,” he conceded, and started stripping. Cin was already down to her shorts and undershirt, and she turned away from him to unwind her breast band while leaving her shirt on, then climbed into the bed.

She flopped down, facing him again, and her stomach gave a little jolt when she saw him stepping toward the bed in his shorts and thin undershirt. She watched his muscles move underneath the fabric as he pulled back the covers and climbed in next to her.

The bed wasn’t so big that they were miles away from one another. Instead, his foot and elbow against brushed her as he moved around, getting comfortable, and she found herself lying stiffly, her breath caught in her throat. Boromir settled on his side, facing her, and she felt his eyes on her. She forced herself to breathe.

Stop panicking, Cin, she told herself. You can handle this.

She rolled onto her side and ended up a little closer to him than she intended, but she didn’t back down. She met his eyes, only a few inches from hers.

He swallowed, and she saw his adam’s apple bob, as he seemed to be drawing himself up for something.

“Cin…” he started.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry for my behaviour these past few days,” he said in a low voice, resolutely meeting her eyes. “I’ve been angry—at myself. I’ve been over and over it in my head, and I don’t know why I attacked Frodo like that. I can’t even _remember_ what I was thinking…”

“Boromir,” she interrupted, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. “It was the Ring. It wasn’t you. I’m _telling_ you.”

His gaze fell away, ashamed. “Why then did none of the others act the same? Why didn’t _you_ act the same?”

Cin sighed. “I shouldn’t presume, but can I make a guess? You had more motivation than any of the others to take control of the Ring—right?” It wasn’t a guess, but he had to believe it was. “Am I right in thinking you were under orders?”

He still wasn’t looking at her, but he whispered, “Yes.”

“Boromir,” she said, and he met her eyes again. “If you trust me, then believe me—it wasn’t your fault.”

After a moment, his face relaxed into a soft smile, and he put his other hand over hers on his shoulder. He sighed. “I trust you, lass.” He squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t stop me feeling disappointed in myself.”

“Well, I’m disappointed in you,” she said with a huff. He frowned in question, and she couldn’t hold back a smirk. “For taking too long to rescue me from those women downstairs.”

He laughed as though he hadn’t expected to—a softer, more shy laugh than the usual loud boisterous one that sometimes seemed a little put on—a laugh she’d never heard before—and released her hand to casually brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Her breath caught in her throat again, but he didn’t seem to notice; his hand dropped, he yawned hugely, and buried his head into the pillow, his eyes closed.

So, what was that? Cin wondered—an affectionate touch because he reciprocated her feelings? Or a light scuff like you’d give a cheeky little sister? She watched him in the candlelight as his breathing grew steadily slower, and although she was exhausted, she struggled to fall asleep—the image of him kissing the woman downstairs was burned into her memory, and it kept replaying again and again, and his lips were only inches from hers now, and she remembered the taste of him clearly. She put a hand out halfway to his face before stopping herself.

“Don’t be an idiot, Cin,” she whispered to herself, and rolled over.


	9. Reuniting

They arrived in Edoras the next day, joining streams of others returning to the settlement—they gathered the bits and pieces of what had happened from the people they passed. A great battle had taken place at Helm’s Deep, and Rohan had prevailed. Isengard and Saruman were defeated, and the heroes were returning for a celebration. They were just in time to join them.

Almost as soon as they stepped through the gates into the crowds of busy people, Cin heard a familiar voice.

“Cin!”

She turned, and saw Aragorn pushing through the crowds towards them.

“Aragorn!” she called, tugging on Boromir’s sleeve to bring him to a halt. Aragorn reached them and embraced each of them in turn. She hugged him tightly, so relieved to see him unhurt that tears sprang to her eyes.

“It’s good to see you both. How was your journey?”

“Uneventful,” Cin said with a smile. “Unlike yours, I gather?”

Aragorn quickly filled them in on the events of the past few days—most importantly, finding Gandalf, Merry and Pippin. They both could barely believe it.

Aragorn led them through the stables as he explained, and they met Gimli and Legolas who were conversing with King Theoden.

“Lord Boromir!” he exclaimed as soon as they arrived, stepping forward to clasp Boromir’s hand. “It has been too long.”

“Far too long, my Lord,” Boromir replied with a smile. “It is good to see you well. We had heard rumours…”

“All unfortunately true,” Theoden said, the smile fading from his face. “But yes, I am well again now. You are welcome to Edoras, and to join our celebrations tonight.”

 

It was a big party. Cin and Boromir once again became fairly drunk with only a small amount of ale, but everyone (aside from Legolas) was the same. It made her joyously happy to be reunited with most of the Fellowship again, and they all sat around one table, exchanging stories, until well into the night. The party didn’t show any signs of slowing down, however, even past midnight, and Cin was getting tired. Also, the women of Edoras in general seemed very interested in their whole group, moving from simply eyeing them from a distance to actually closing in—several crowded around Legolas when he made the mistake of speaking to one of them. By that point, Cin decided she needed a breather.

 

“Breaking hearts again?”

She glanced around. Boromir had followed her out to the quiet terrace. He stood silhouetted in the light from the doorway.

“Oh, always,” Cin said, rolling her eyes.

Boromir wandered over to join her where she stood looking out over the mountains. “You can simply ignore them, you know. Or perhaps I should teach you how a man politely declines a woman’s interest.”

Cin grunted, unimpressed.

“After all,” he continued, “it seems to have become my lot in life to educate you in the masculine ways,” he teased.

“‘The masculine ways’,” she repeated with a snort. “What are those?”

“Well, the bow and arrow,” he said, counting off on his fingers, “the sword; proper greetings and terms of address.” He paused, and then added slyly, “Kissing.”

“ _Kissing_?” she scoffed. “I doubt you could teach me much about that,” she said offhandedly.

“I think I could show you a thing or two,” he said softly, his tone dropping lower.

A chill went through her whole spine.

“I doubt that,” she said carefully, not sure where this was going.

“I can prove it,” he suggested, innocent, taking another half step closer to her. Cin’s feet were frozen in place.

“You want to prove it to me?”

He was very close to her now. “You’re usually a fast learner. You didn’t get the lesson the other night, at the inn?”

Cin looked up at him, her blood pounding in her ears. “No, I don’t think I picked it up. I might need another demonstration.”

Boromir went still for a long moment, his eyes locked on hers intensely. She was conscious of his chest rising and falling as he took two deep breaths and then in a split second, something flashed in his eyes, caused heat to flood through her body, as his hand came to the back of her neck, and then he was pulling her in and she was leaning forward and they were kissing.

Her vague concerns about him being a virgin were immediately dispelled—he kissed like an experienced lover. He was confident. His mouth moved against hers, his body pressed forward, his arm came around her waist and pulled her tight against him. She had to fight down an involuntary noise that escaped her throat, surprised. There was no hesitation—he knew what he was doing.

She untangled her arms from under his and put them around his neck, grasping his hair, and he growled softly in response, making her giggle. He drew back, breathing heavily. She looked up at him, struggling to believe this was actually happening, he actually did feel something of what she felt, she’d doubted for so long… She gave a breathless laugh, which he reciprocated. Then he leaned forward again, his lips meeting hers more softly this time, gentle and sweet, and—

“Boromir!”

The sharp retort froze them both where they stood, and they turned to see Aragorn standing in the doorway. Cin repressed a groan.

Reluctantly, Boromir released Cin and stepped back, the mirth fading from his face. Cin looked from one to the other, wondering what was going to happen.

Aragorn jerked his chin at Boromir, who took a breath and followed him as he turned away.

“Stay there, Cinir,” Aragorn said, his voice icy.

They both disappeared back inside. Cin ignored Aragorn’s order, and ran over to the doorway, leaning carefully forward to listen. She could hear their voices on the other side of the wall, difficult to make out against the noise of the party.

She heard Boromir’s voice, loud and annoyed: “You are not her father, or mine—you cannot control what we do.”

Aragorn replied, his voice harder to make out. She heard the words ‘honourable’ and ‘separate’. The argument continued in more lowered tones for a moment, then Aragorn’s voice came through more clearly, more irritated: “You will break her heart.”

They argued back and forth for a time, cutting each other off.

“And what if it is love?” Boromir finally exclaimed, clearly. “What if we are meant to be together?” he demanded. Cin’s stomach twisted pleasantly in reaction. Then, a moment later, she scrambled backwards when she heard footsteps. She tried to look nonchalant as Aragorn emerged from the doorway again.

“Cin…” he sighed, his shoulders dropping, some of the stiffness leaving him.

“What did you say to him?” she asked, in a low voice.

“I told him to stay away from you.”

Cin scowled. “It was one kiss, Aragorn, you’re overreacting.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, wearily. “Boromir is the son of the Steward,” he said, delicately. “He’s the oldest son and heir.”

“So? You think that automatically means he just wants to use me, and then be done with me? Is that it?”

Aragorn ducked his head in a way that meant yes.

“What if I don’t care about that? Maybe I’m the one using him.”

Aragorn didn’t believe her for a second—he just rolled his eyes, and stepped closer, to grasp her shoulder affectionately. “If his intentions are honourable, then you have nothing to worry about. He will wait. But if his interest fades, then you’ll know.” He let his hand drop, and looked away. “One of us with a broken heart is more than enough. If I can protect you from it I will.”

Cin sighed. She couldn’t stay angry at him when he said things like that. “Alright, you make a fair point. I can wait a bit, I suppose.”

 

She slept late, in a corner of the hall where the party had gone on almost until light, many others around her doing the same. She woke only when sunlight crept through the open doorway and directly into her face, sitting up blearily to activity all around her as the remains of the party was cleared out and people were going about their business. She got to her feet and wandered out to the terrace, where she found Gimli sitting with a pipe.

“Did you see them off?” he asked.

“Who?” Cin blinked at him.

“Gandalf, Pippin and Boromir. They ride for Gondor.”

Adrenaline shot through Cin’s whole body, waking her up more effectively than a bucket of water. “Leaving? When?”

“Now.”

She set off at a run down to the stables. She couldn’t let him go without speaking again, she just couldn’t—close to the stables, she was almost mowed down by a white horse flashing past, and she managed to glimpse Gandalf and Pippin on it. Behind them came a roan horse, not quite as fast, but enough that she had to run after him to catch up.

“Boromir!” she yelled. He glanced back, almost at the gate, and when he saw her, he drew to a halt.

“Cin,” a small smile crossed his face before it was replaced by a frown. He urged the horse aside from the people milling back and forth at the gate, but he didn’t dismount. “There is urgent need, I must return to Minas Tirith.”

“So I heard,” Cin said, putting a hand on the horse’s reins to hold it still. “You weren’t going to say goodbye?”

“I thought perhaps, it might be easier…” he said, uncomfortable. “But I’m glad to see you.”

“You as well.” She swallowed. “It will be strange, with you gone.” _I’ll miss you,_ she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat.

Boromir seemed to struggle with words himself for a moment, and then he leaned down enough to speak in a lowered tone. “Cin, there is one thing I must ask.”

“Of course.”

“Are you promised to Aragorn?”

Cin blinked at him. “Huh?” she said. “Promised? You mean—”

“Promised to marry,” he clarified, impatient.

“ _No_! What? No, of course not.” She made a face. “That would be like… marrying my brother.”

Boromir blew out a breath, running a hand over his hair, “That is a relief,” he said quietly, then he hesitated again. “Are you sure he does not feel differently?”

“Er, yes, completely sure. He’s in love with Arwen, Boromir—Lord Elrond’s daughter.”

“An elf?”

“Yes, an elf,” she said, smirking at his disgusted expression. “Besides, he’s _fifty years_ my senior, and…” she shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

Boromir looked visibly relieved. “Good,” he said, and grinned. “Don’t.”

And he leaned down and kissed her. Cin grasped his calf with her free hand, wishing she could pull him off the horse, make him stay—but he drew back after only a moment.

“People will get the wrong impression of us,” he said, humour in his eyes, glancing at the crowds around them, and Cin realised that to all appearances she was still a man. She smirked. “They can think what they want.”

“Even so, I must go.”

Cin nodded, regretfully, and released him, stepping back. “Be safe,” she said.

“You as well. We will see each other soon; I am certain.”

She nodded, unable to form any more words over the tightness in her throat. He nodded to her, and she saw regret in his eyes, and then he was gone.


	10. Fighting

The next several days passed in a blur.

Cin waited with the others in Edoras for four days before the beacons were lit, whether by Boromir or by Gandalf, somehow, and they rode out soon after. She followed Aragorn from Dunharrow to the Dimholdt Road, along with Gimli and Legolas, and through the terrifying tunnels, her eyes squeezed shut half the time and just trusting Aragorn that he knew the right thing to do. As usual, her faith in him was not misplaced.

In the battle for Minas Tirith, she took an arrow through the thigh, an injury that wasn’t terribly serious but did prevent her from joining the others on the march to the Black Gates. She redeployed herself from the battlefield to the houses of healing once she was able to hobble around with a crutch, and she barely saw Boromir during the entire period, except for glimpses from a distance, and one moment between the two battles when she passed nearby where Faramir lay recovering and Boromir turned suddenly around a corner, almost crashing into her.

“Cin,” he breathed.

“Boromir… You look terrible,” she said gently, concerned. He looked drawn, like he hadn’t slept at all since she last saw him, and battered. Dried blood was smeared on his cheek and his clothes were filthy. He looked like he’d lost weight. “Are you alright?”

He swallowed thickly and Cin thought she saw his eyes well up before he stepped forward and hugged her tightly, burying his face in her neck. She rubbed his back and felt his body shaking silently for a moment or two, then with a quick breath in he stepped back and, with monumental effort, composed himself. He gave a weak smile and grasped her shoulder before hurrying on his way.

Aside from that, she didn’t get a chance to speak to him at all, though she learned from many long conversations with Faramir, sitting by his bedside while she folded bandages with her leg up, about everything that had happened with their late father, and how hard Boromir was taking it. Let alone the damage and destruction to his beloved city.

One night, when the most urgent work in the houses of healing had died down, and she was able to be assigned a guest room to actually get some sleep for the night, she had looked out over her small balcony to a level below and had seen Boromir standing alone in a courtyard. It looked like he was crying.

“Boromir!” she whispered, then realised how ridiculous it was to whisper—he was several meters below her. “Boromir!” she called out, louder, but her voice died in the night air, the lack of resonance making it obvious that it didn’t travel far. She tried to figure out where he was, and turned and ran back through the building, down two sets of stairs and outside. She was on the road, and he had been in a courtyard—she looked around, trying to figure out where it was, and wandered down the road, taking several turns left and right. Eventually she came out into a courtyard that looked like the right one, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Boromir marched with the others to the Black Gate. She couldn’t go with them due to her leg, and she couldn’t see them off either because a patient had taken badly ill in the houses of healing and she didn’t feel right leaving him. So she tried not to think about it, and concentrated on the tasks in front of her for the next almost two weeks, where each day that passed felt like the longest in her life.

Finally, one day, she was sitting by Faramir’s pallet, taking weight off her leg and occupying her hands by crushing herbs for storage, when they felt something like a burst of wind. They looked at each other, and then there were shouts from outside. Faramir scrambled up and Cin paused long enough to help him to his feet, and they both hobbled out of his ward and to the closest balcony looking out to the east. Beyond the mountains, there was lightning, and black smoke, and something faintly rumbled.

“Is that good or bad?” Cin asked, anxious.

Faramir, his shoulder pressed against hers as he struggled to stay upright, started to reply but was cut off when they saw the burst of flame that could only be the eruption of Mt Doom.

There was a moment of stunned silence throughout the city before people started to cheer. Cin gripped Faramir’s arm, but she couldn’t bring herself to join in.

They didn’t know the fate of their friends until many days later, when the first messengers started to arrive ahead of the returning army. One of the healers read the report aloud for all the staff and patients, who huddled around to hear it. When the list of returning heros, near the start of the announcement, were announced, noting specifically that Lord Aragorn and Lord Boromir were on their way back and well, Cin felt tears well in her eyes, but tried hard to hold them back until the message was finished—and then she sank onto a seat and cried for ten minutes, and no one bothered her. She was glad for her friends, but there had been no word about Frodo or Sam, which didn’t necessarily mean anything, but she knew that if they’d been on that mountain when it had erupted, then it was very unlikely they’d survived.

 

There was a celebration. She was overjoyed to reunite with everyone, and when the news arrived that Gandalf had rescued Frodo and Sam. Everyone was happy—except Boromir. When she first saw him, he seemed stiff and formal. He was dressed in such a formal manner as she’d never seen him in before, and it seemed like smiling was a forgotten art to him. She knew he was upset about his father, but he seemed to have changed, aside from that.

She saw him in a hallway the next day. There was still a lot of work to be done; she knew he was busy. Still.

“Boromir!”

She caught up with him, and he paused, reluctantly.

“Cin,” he said, “I’m sorry, I’m on my way to a meeting—”

“Boromir, wait,” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm to stop him from marching off.

He paused, though he was having trouble holding her gaze.

“Listen, I— I haven’t seen you in ages. Can we meet? Or perhaps we could spar sometime? My leg is on the mend now, I need to get some exercise…”

Boromir struggled with his response, finally fixing his gaze on her boots and saying, “I don’t think that would be appropriate, Cin. Please excuse me.”

She was left staring after him as he hurried away down the hall, completely baffled.

She managed to catch Aragorn in the rooms he’d been assigned later that morning, and when he asked how she was, she launched into a rant about it.

“Boromir is being a complete pig. The second we get back to his city and he’s acting like I’m some _peasant_.”

Aragorn seemed distracted, so she didn’t elaborate much further.


	11. Changing

She didn’t see Boromir the next day, or the day after, and she wondered what was going on that was making him so busy. She went to his quarters a few times, but every time a maid came past when she got close.

“My lady, are you looking for Lord Boromir?”

“Yes, is he in?”

“I’m sorry, my lady, he has been very busy lately, I have not seen him.”

She wandered around the city, not sure what to do with herself. Finally, the next day, she was in the stables when Boromir came past in a hurry.

“Boromir!” 

He turned with a start, obviously not having realised she was there. She grinned. “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you.”

He didn’t smile back. Instead, he stood a little stiffly, his eyes glancing to the door and back as though he wanted to leave. “Er—yes, I have been very busy.”

“With what?” she asked, her smile fading, unsure what was happening.

“Repairs, the men…” he trailed off, his eyes looking everywhere but at her.

“Anything I can help with? I’ve got nothing to do.”

Boromir ran a hand over his chin distractedly. “I do not—no. Perhaps ask Aragorn for an assignment.”

Cin sighed. “I guess. Are you alright?”

“I am very well,” he replied stiffly. 

“Are you sure? You seem stressed out,” she said, stepping forward to touch his arm, but he wrenched it back and made for the door. “Please, leave me be, Cin.”

Cin watched him go, flabbergasted. She didn’t know what was going on, but she wasn’t able to speak to him again—she was pretty certain he was avoiding her. And she had no idea why.

She tried to catch him out a few times, but it didn’t work. Even when she waited for an hour in the hallway outside Aragorn’s study when she knew he was meeting with Boromir, he only left after a clerk came to collect him, their heads together discussing something, walking quickly. She ran to catch up, and called out, “Boromir!”

He turned his head, but didn’t slow his pace. “I’m sorry, Cinir, I am running late.”

Cin slowed to a halt and he disappeared around the corner. He hadn’t called her Cinir since the very start of the quest, before they were friends, when they were fighting all the time.

She would almost prefer fighting to this.

She turned away, disgusted with herself as she felt tears spring to her eyes. She didn’t understand, and she didn’t know what she could do to fix it. And although she wasn’t ready to commit to the decision just yet, she knew that before long she would leave Minas Tirith, and leave Boromir behind. She would not wait around for him, now that he had returned to his home and decided to cast her aside—exactly as he’d promised he would not do.

The hallway passed by one of the many small courtyards within the keep and she paused to lean on the window ledge, looking out on the garden but not really seeing it as she angrily wiped tears away. Then she blinked her vision clear and jolted when she saw Faramir halfway across the courtyard, hesitating.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude—” he said, mortified, and Cin shook her head.

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” she said, straightening. “It’s your courtyard.”

He stepped through into the passage and walked over to her.

“You must think I’m a terrible blubberer,” she said with a laugh, “always coming across me like this.”

“Not always,” he corrected with a small smile. 

He leaned next to her on the ledge, looking out over the garden, and Cin took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

“Last time you were crying over my brother—with justification I think,” Faramir said gently. “What is it this time?”

“Same,” she said miserably, and Faramir’s face fell.

“He does tend to have that effect on people lately,” he said wryly, and Cin frowned in question.

“I was comforting a maid he yelled at only this morning. I am not sure what it is... It seems to be more than just our father’s death.”

Cin nodded, and looked around, unsure what to say.

“Perhaps…” Faramir started, uncertain. “Have you ever seen the beacon tower that Pippin climbed?”

Cin turned to him eagerly. “No, but I would like to,” she said enthusiastically. “I have not seen much of the city, really,” she added, remembering Boromir’s unfulfilled promise to show her around.

“Then would you care to accompany me? I have nothing else on this afternoon.”

She smiled, nodding, and he offered his arm, and it blunted her eagerness a little, reminding her so much of Boromir, but she took it anyway.

They walked through the city slowly, and Faramir pointed out various landmarks, and they both tried to avoid the topic of his brother.

Cin enjoyed the distraction. She liked Faramir. He was kind and unassuming.

The next day he showed up in the morning saying he had a surprise for her, and took her a long way across the city, explaining the restoration and construction works going on as they passed, and eventually they came to one of the many stables in the city. He nodded conspiratorially to the stable man as they entered and led Cin to a stall at the end where there was a crate full of kittens. 

Cin was not usually one to be highly excited about baby animals, but they were very cute, and Faramir was clearly really hoping they would cheer her up, so she relented, and smiled, and held them as he passed them to her.

They played with them for several minutes, and Cin found a black one she particularly liked.

“Would you like to keep him?” Faramir asked.

Cin smiled. “I would, but I would be an irresponsible owner. Besides, I don't know how long I'll be here in Minas Tirith…”

“That's fine,” Faramir responded quickly. “Some of the maids in my household staff love cats, and they could look after him primarily, but he could stay in your room at night. I have a cat who sleeps on my bed as well, and the maids enjoy caring for him when I am away.”

This piqued Cin's interest. She’d been having terrible trouble sleeping alone—a cat wasn’t the same as the group of companions she was missing, but it was better than nothing. So she agreed.

 

This sort of thing went on for a few more days, but it was only when Faramir shyly asked her to dinner one night that she finally realised what was going on. 

He wasn't just being a friend.

She stared at him so long as this realisation hit that he eventually smiled.

“Is it such a hard question?” he asked.

“I… Faramir, I only just … you… no. I don't think I should.”

“Why not?” he asked, covering a hurt look quickly, and Cin cast around for an acceptable answer. 

“I just… I realised that I might be giving you the wrong impression,” she said, delicately, and Faramir understood straight away.

“You are in love with my brother,” he said, and Cin looked up at him, shocked.

“I…” she floundered. “I… What makes you say that?”

He shrugged, a little rejection showing in his eyes. “I suspected so from the first moment I met you,” he said. “But I thought I would wait and see.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and he shook his head.

“He is a fool,” he said wryly. 

“As am I,” Cin said, flopping down onto the nearby bench. “The worst of it is, I thought he felt the same. I was  _ certain _ of it.”

She heard Faramir exhale slowly through his nose, the way he did when he was hiding his annoyance, and then he sat next to her and said in a measured voice, “It is not like him to lead a lady on.” 

She looked up. “It isn’t?”

“No. You surely know this about him. He wears his heart on his sleeve; he is not capable of much deception.”

“I suppose…”

He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “I almost dread to counsel you further, since it is opposite to my interests,” he said, and she saw humour in his eyes, belaying the slightly bitter statement.

“There is no need,” Cin said, smiling.

He shook his head. “No; there is. Perhaps you are meant to be with my brother; valar knows, you are a very good match. In which case, I should not stand in your way.”

“I think it is hopeless,” Cin muttered.

“If you thought he felt for you, he probably did. May I ask what he said or did to give you that impression?”

“Well…” Cin blushed, and Faramir’s eyes widened.

“Oh! I— I see.”

“No! It wasn’t— it was just a kiss,” she explained.

Faramir was avoiding looking at her. “Right,” he said, awkwardly.

“Well, two kisses,” Cin added. “And some words.”

Faramir nodded. “Well. Well, that is certainly a strong indicator.”

“So it is not his habit? To use a woman and then cast her aside?” Cin asked bitterly.

“No,” Faramir said flatly, and she frowned at him.

“Not at all?”

“No, not at all. Not for many years, anyway.”

“Huh. So he wasn’t lying about that…” Cin mused.

“As I said, lying is not my brother’s strong suit.”

“It was not just that, though, Faramir,” she said, wanting him to understand that she wasn’t crazy. “We grew very close during the quest. Closer than I have been with anyone in my life. Even before… we fought like cats and dogs at first, but then it changed, and he became like my best friend.” 

“How so?”

“We talked about everything. Our childhoods, our deepest fears. He promised me that if I ever needed help or a place to belong, to come to him here, in Minas Tirith, and he would find a place for me. He promised me that even before we really became friends. And though I think I felt for him first, I never acted on it. He kissed me first. But then, as soon as we all got back, he suddenly stopped talking to me, and now he will not see me at all—I just don’t understand.”

“I agree, it is strange,” Faramir nodded, and then took a breath as though to steel himself. “Well, I suppose I will take up your case, although I daresay he does not deserve it.”

“You will?”

He nodded. “I will try to talk to him, but I cannot promise anything. He is very stubborn.”

“I know.”

  
  


Cin waited nervously for Faramir to talk to Boromir and report back to her. She couldn’t help getting her hopes up. Finally, after a few days, Faramir came to see her one morning as she was finishing her breakfast. His expression was grim, and her heart fell. He had not come with good news.

“You spoke to him?” she asked, and he nodded, closing the door behind him.

“I tried. He refused to discuss you at all. He acts as though he has been severely wounded. Are you sure you did not do anything to hurt him?”

Cin raised her hands. “I have been asking myself the same thing over and over. If it is something I did, I don’t know what it can be.”

Faramir sighed. “I am sorry.”

“It’s alright. Thank you for trying, Faramir.”

“You intend to give up on him, then?” he asked, a little hope in his eyes, and Cin looked away.

“I suppose. I have raised with Aragorn that I would like to join the patrol heading to the north. I need to go home, and see my family.”

He nodded, understanding. “Will you return?”

“Perhaps. I haven’t decided.”

“You will always be welcome here, as long as you like. Even if my brother continues to insist on acting like a boar.”

She laughed. “I appreciate that, Faramir.”

  
  


After that conversation, she couldn’t wait to leave. A patrol was leaving to travel north less than a week later, and though she’d miss Aragorn’s upcoming coronation, she felt that she couldn’t wait any longer. She was relieved to be heading out on the road again, and have something else to concentrate on. She didn’t see Boromir before she left. She didn’t even think he was in the city. She considered leaving a letter or something, but decided it was too melodramatic. Better to make a clean break, and look to the future. 

They made it as far as Ithilien before encountering a horde of orcs—a massive horde.

That was when she got shot.

She opened her mouth to shout an order—but whatever it was, it never came out. Something hit her with so much force that she flew off her feet and towards the ground.

It wasn’t like in the stories, where characters conveniently blackout and then wake up later, nice and comfortable in a clean bed. Cin’s vision darkened around the edges and that darkness crept forwards and backwards, so she was never quite fully conscious but never fully unconscious either, and the pain was like fire throughout. 

She was lying in the mud, and she could hear the others yelling, though she couldn’t pinpoint the exact words. For several minutes, they fought off their immediate enemies while she lay there, the pain too terrible to even scream, trying to breathe and trying not to let the darkness take her. 

Then someone was lifting her, carrying her, and the jostling movement made the pain flare to a white hot point, and the darkness took over for minutes at a time. She saw glimpses of trees, the sky, the faces of the other men. Then whoever was carrying her was laying her down.

There was bustling around her. Her body jolted as armour was removed. Some examination around her shoulder, and then the arrow was pulled free - and then she really did black out.

She was dreaming. She dreamed of fire and lava, then ice and wind. She missed Aragorn, and she missed Boromir. She wanted to go home.

She dreamed of Rivendell. She dreamed of the icy cold in the mountains on the journey east. She dreamed of the wargs and the orcs attacking them on their run to the mines, feeling her heart race and sweat break out on her forehead. Someone wiped it away.

She dreamed of the Hobbits as she’d first met them on the road to Rivendell. She dreamed of Frodo. The faces of the other members of the Fellowship swum in her vision—Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas, Boromir. She reached out to the dream image, and was shocked when her fingers made contact.

She jolted and felt herself rise as though through fog to a more solid level of consciousness, and realised that Boromir really was there in front of her. She was lying on her back and he was kneeling beside her, hovering with a damp cloth over her face, his eyes meeting hers.

“Cin,” he said, an unfamiliar thickness to his voice. “Can you hear me?”

She tried to speak, but her voice didn’t seem to be working. Boromir became more desperate, and grasped her shoulders, leaning forward.

“Cin,” he repeated, a ragged edge coming into his voice. “Cin, stay with me.”

She tried to force her throat to work. “Boro…” she whispered hoarsely, and even that was enough to bring some relief to his features, and he smiled.

“Cin,” he breathed. “It’s alright, there is no need to speak.”

“It hurts,” she rasped, wanting to convey to him just how much pain she was in, in case he didn’t realise.

He turned for a moment and came back with a water skein, which he held to her mouth, letting a few drops trickle through.

“I know it hurts, lass.”

He took the water away, and she let her head collapse back, and then she was gone again. She didn’t know how long. She was constantly dreaming, vividly. She dreamed of Aragorn telling her about her brother’s death. She dreamed of her tiny hut out in the east, isolated and alone. She dreamed of Frodo smiling once again. She dreamed of things that hadn’t even happened; she dreamed of Aragorn and Arwen’s wedding. She dreamed of returning to her cousins in the north. She dreamed of Boromir saying he loved her.

The fire and the ice continued throughout. When she became lucid for a few minutes, a hand was gently brushing her hair back from her face and murmuring to her while he faded in and out of focus, the darkness creeping up at the edges of her sight. Boromir’s voice reached through her brain. He was just murmuring general comforting words, things like, “it’ll all be alright,” and “easy now, lass”—they didn’t necessarily mean anything, but he said them so tenderly, and only for her, that she had to wonder how it was possible that he didn’t really care about her. Then again, she wasn’t 100% sure that he was actually here, and not just a dream. 

Then there was a moment when her focus returned again, and she could hear his voice clearly, and she could see her surroundings - she was in a room with stone walls, a fire in the hearth, lying on a pallet. 

Boromir was kneeling by her side again, talking to her. 

The next words that he said were so clear she knew it couldn’t be merely a dream.

“Cin,” he said, his voice ragged. “I know you don’t want me, but I love you. Please hold on. Please—don’t leave me.” 

She wanted to respond. She wanted to yell out that she was right here, and that she loved him too, but her throat wouldn’t work, and the darkness was creeping up at the corners again, and next thing she knew, the fire was gone and sunlight was shining through from somewhere.

She turned her head, and grimaced when it sent pain shooting through her shoulder, and saw Boromir in the middle of the room, leaning over a bucket, scrubbing linens—wait. She blinked hard, and squinted to focus. Yes, Boromir was doing washing. Something she never in a million years thought she’d see. 

He seemed to sense her eyes on him, and looked up, meeting her gaze—and immediately dropped what he was doing and hurried over to her side.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, putting a hand to her forehead then her neck, feeling her temperature. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Cin said, her voice like sandpaper.

He reached quickly for the water skein and held it to her lips again, and she drank thirstily.

“Not too much,” he said gently. “Easy.”

She relaxed back and he grasped her left hand in both of his. “It has been several days. I was never sure you would pull through, but you are very strong. Your fever broke last night.”

Cin frowned. “Days? What… What happened and - how are you here?”

“I was in Cair Andros overseeing reconstruction, and my company received a message for aid from your patrol. Many of your men were injured.”

“How bad?” she asked.

“Several passed away,” he said gently. “The arrows were poisoned. They feared the worst for you.” He hesitated. “I came as soon as I heard. I’m sorry.”

He let go of her hand and sat back. “Aragorn will be here soon, and then I’ll leave you be.”

Cin’s groggy brain was struggling to keep up with him. “Aragorn is coming?”

“Yes, a message was sent to him as well. I believe he will be on his way.”

“And you’re leaving?”

He took an unsteady breath. “I know you would rather not see me, but I had to make sure you were well. I will not bother you further.” He got to his feet and Cin was struggling to keep up with his words.

“W-wait - Boromir,” she said, staring up at him. “Can’t you stay and… talk? I haven’t seen you for weeks. I—I missed you.”

She expected him to smile and return to her bedside, or even to tell her he didn’t have time to sit around with her, he had duties to attend to - but he didn’t do either of those things. Instead, he got angry.

“Do not play with me,” he said, sweeping his hand aggressively. “I know it is customary for a woman to change her mind from one moment to the next, but I beg you to spare my feelings on this at least. My heart cannot take any further damage.”

“Your heart…?” she breathed. He wouldn’t look at her, but he hadn’t yet stormed off either. Despite the pain in her shoulder, Cin sat up to get a better look at him. He looked utterly miserable. “Boromir, I don’t know what I’ve done to hurt you. All I know is we last spoke in the stables that day and you were suddenly acting very strange, and after that you refused to see me. I thought you had grown tired of me.”

He turned enough to look at her out of the corner of his eye, his arms folded defensively across his chest. “Aragorn did not mention the conversation?”

“What conversation?” she exclaimed, frustrated. She suddenly felt dizzy.

Boromir’s expression quickly changed from anger to concern and he hurried back to her side. “Cin, you’ve gone pale - you need to lie down, here…”

He put a hand on her back and helped her back down on the pallet. To her extreme frustration, the blackness was creeping up again and she was struggling to hold onto consciousness. She grasped Boromir’s tunic hard, trying to hold on, meeting his sad eyes.

“Don’t go,” she said angrily. “I miss you.”

“Cin…” he breathed, but she was already fading.


	12. Returning

When she next awoke, Boromir was gone, and she was alone in the room. She threw her hand over the side of the pallet, searching for water, and found a water skein lying within reach. She sat up stiffly and drained the whole thing. Low-angled sunlight was shining through again and she guessed she’d slept another whole day and night. She looked down carefully at the wound and recognised the type of bandage applied there.

“Aragorn,” she said hoarsely into the empty room. There was a scramble of footsteps outside her door, and then it opened, a footman in full livery peering in.

“My lady, you’re awake!” he said nervously. Cin received that with a jolt—her long-kept secret was evidently now out. “Shall I go fetch his Grace?”

“Please do,” she said through her teeth, and he nodded and vanished.

Cin slumped with her back against the wall and her feet over the edge of the pallet. She was still tired, but she felt about 300% better than yesterday. She recognised Aragorn’s work.

He appeared within minutes. She was surprised for a moment to see him dressed in his old Ranger-style garb rather than his ‘King’ outfit. His footman preceded him and started to announce his title, but he waved him off impatiently.

“Cin, I’m glad to see you awake,” he started, once they were alone, but she held up a hand.

“Stop. Wait. Before anything else. Something happened with Boromir, something you didn’t tell me, and I need to know. Now. Immediately.”

He paused halfway across the room. “What did he tell you?” he asked, his voice neutral.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Cin said. “He just kept apologising for bothering me, and mentioned something about a conversation with you. There’s something I don’t know about, right?”

Aragorn cocked his head, curious. “I had hoped to spare you some embarrassment, but perhaps I made the wrong decision.”

“About _what?_ ” she exclaimed.

“Boromir came to me some weeks ago and asked for your hand.”

Cin stared at him. Birdsong filtered through the window as she processed this, and he stood patiently waiting.

She tried to form a question several times, but couldn’t figure out where to start. Finally, she came to the most ridiculous one; “Why did he ask _you?_ ”

Aragorn smiled. “A southern tradition, I suppose. I am your closest kin.”

“And you told him no?”

Aragorn spread his hands. “Earlier that day you had come to me complaining about him, and he seemed to be bothering you. I didn’t think you had any interest in him any longer, so I advised him to try his luck elsewhere. Was I wrong?”

Cin could barely form words. “Aragorn—” she gestured helplessly. “I—I—” she couldn’t even form words to convey her feeling at this revelation.

Aragorn moved to sit next to her on the pallet, taking her gesturing hands and stilling them, meeting her gaze levelly.

“Cin,” he said carefully. “This is the man with whom you literally came to blows several times during the journey from Rivendell. More than once I had to physically separate you to stop you killing each other.”

“Yes, but-”

“The man you called a pig several times, including to his face.”

“I know, but—”

“The one who I asked you to look after, holding you back from continuing the quest, to your extreme annoyance? I know you had some small interest, at one stage, but… Are you saying all these feelings have changed?”

“I—” Cin cut off. Looking at it from that point of view, she could understand Aragorn’s confusion. Her switch must seem insane to him. “Yes.”

“You mean to say that if he had asked you directly, your answer would have been different?”

She met his gaze. She had time to consider that question yet, but she only needed a moment to know what her answer was. “Yes.”

Aragorn’s face didn’t give any reaction, but he hesitated before asking more quietly, “Do you love him?”

She nodded. “Yes, I do.”

Aragorn smiled, if a little sadly, and squeezed her hands. “I am happy for you.”

Cin smirked. “That’s nice, but I’m not asking your permission this time.”

He laughed. “You never needed it.”

“Where is he? I’ve got to talk to him.”

Aragorn’s face fell. “Oh, Cin. He left yesterday, as soon as I arrived. I need him leading the reconstruction in Cair Andros.”

Cin groaned. “I’ve got to go after him—”

Aragorn grasped her arm as she started to get up, pulling her back to the pallet. “You are not going anywhere. You still need some days to rest and heal.”

“Then I’ll send a message.”

“By the time the messenger reached him and returned, it would be almost time for his relief rotation. It would be better for you to return to Minas Tirith and concentrate on your recovery. He will return before you know it.” He peered into her face, a slight grin. “Or can you not stand to be parted from him for so long? Will you miss too much your constant arguments and scuffles?”

Cin missed the joke. “Aragorn—what if he has been too badly hurt? What if he is no longer interested? He looked miserable.”

Aragorn smirked. “Boromir is not a man who gives up easily. I would not worry.”

  


Cin was not generally patient, so the next month of waiting felt like a year. She returned after another week with Aragorn to Minas Tirith, travelling very slowly, and then spent some time as a patient in the houses of healing before finally being able to go back to something like normal and help out there again. Word had spread of her secret, and shortly after arriving she had to give an explanation to the rest of the Fellowship, who were all somewhat shocked, but not very.

She wondered how Boromir had seemed to heal so quickly from his similar wound—how much pain he must have been in for so long, but had not let it affect him.

He was due to return on a Thursday, along with around thirty other men rotating off duty. Cin had been counting down the days; she was hoping she would be able to wait to meet him at the gates when he arrived, but on that Thursday, a large group of children all came down with a pox at once and the Halls of Healing became overrun, and she was so busy she couldn’t get away. She was making [liniments] in the storeroom for hours, finally completing enough of them only late in the evening, and she realised with a jolt that it was well after sundown. She hurried through the streets and started searching for Boromir.

She tried the barracks first, where she got confirmation that he had returned that afternoon, but he wasn't there now. She went next to the keep, bursting in on Faramir and embarrassing herself to the extreme when she realised he had company—a tall, beautiful blonde woman. As she was apologising and backing out, Faramir his a smile and said he had seen Boromir earlier, but weren’t sure where he was now, and he wished her luck.

She demanded access to Aragorn’s study, where he was stooped over his desk with stacks of paper, but no Boromir. He gave a poorly concealed smile and said he had seen Boromir in a formal capacity a few hours ago when he took his initial report, but thought he was likely nearby.

Frustrated, Cin wandered through the keep, stopping to ask every footman and maid she passed, and got some vague suggestions that he might be in the northern wing. Cin made her way in that direction, and noticed as she got closer a few of the maids were watching her as she passed and smiling behind their hands, and she frowned, wondering if she had a smudge on her face or something.

Finally, she asked another maid and got a definite answer. “Yes, my Lady, he is on the terrace. Just through there.”

“Thank you!”

She hurried ahead and turned the corner, and then hesitated.

There was a small anteroom which she slowed as she crossed and then it opened onto the terrace - a large balcony looking out to the north - and she could see a row of small candles flickering on the railing, and flowers adorning the pillars, and standing with his back turned to her, fiddling awkwardly with a flower arrangement, and wearing a very fine tunic, was Boromir.

Cin froze in the middle of the darkened anteroom when she saw it all, at first not sure she was meant to be here, and then too nervous to face him, but he lifted his head and turned—their eyes met and it was too late, there was no escaping.

He smiled apologetically and waved a hand awkwardly at the flowers and candles. “The maids were a little overzealous…” he said. “I asked for something nice, but…” he swallowed hard. “I hope you like it.”

Cin’s stomach felt like it had taken a running leap off the balcony. “Erm—it’s nice,” she said, and his face fell at her tone.

“You are not really one for flowers and the like, I know. My apologies. We could go somewhere else…?”

“I wouldn’t want to offend the maids.” She was barely even aware of speaking, it was on automatic. Her voice sounded kind of muffled to her own ears. Despite several words they still hadn’t really _said_ anything. She wasn’t sure how she felt. She was overjoyed to see him, but wary.

They stood watching each other, and as usual, Boromir overcame the awkwardness first. He grinned, one eyebrow cocking slightly, and held out a hand.

“Well, are you going to just stand there, lass?”

Her legs like wood, Cin forced herself to move forward, reaching to take his hand. When their fingers touched it was like a bolt of lightning straight to her heart, bringing straight back to the front of her mind all the times they’d touched, all that had happened between them, how much she’d missed him.

She wanted to kiss him straight away. He was finally here, finally real and solid and not just in her memory, and she couldn’t quite believe it.

Once out on the balcony fully, she saw the full beautiful display and saw how he was probably the most clean she’d ever seen him, but she hesitated—he looked nervous. It was an unfamiliar expression on his face.

“I missed you,” he said.

Cin rolled her eyes. “Well, _you_ were the one who—”

“Cin!” he cut her off, and dragged a hand down his face. “Please, let’s not argue, not now. I know I made a hash of all this before. I’m sorry.”

“All this just to apologise?” she grinned hesitantly, glancing around at the candles and flowers.  “Have you matched the amount of flowers and candles to the amount of the offence? Because I was pretty annoyed at you.”

Boromir was gritting his teeth. “Cin…”

“Because if the apology is all done, I’m starving, so can we go get some—”

“It’s not an apology.”

“It’s not?”

“I know you must be angry with me for the way I treated you, but I will make up for it, I promise.”

He took a breath and knelt down before her.

“Boromir…” she breathed, everything suddenly coming into sharp focus as she finally realised what this was.

“Aragorn told me to leave you be. I thought I was doing what you wanted. But it was not what _I_ wanted. I know I should have asked you directly—he made that clear to me this afternoon. I did not know that about northern traditions. But I do now.” He looked up at her. “If you will only have me, I’ll make up for it all. We do not have to live here - we can return to the north if you prefer. I care not, as long as I am with you.”

Cin’s throat had closed over and she couldn’t reply, so, a little more desperation in his voice, he continued.

“I love you, Cin. If you have any feelings left for me, please, consider my offer. You need not answer now if you need to think—I will wait.”

She couldn’t restrain a strangled laugh. “Boromir… I think I’ve loved you ever since you asked me for directions to the library in Rivendell, and you made a rude comment about women being unable to fight, and Aragorn was watching us and later he berated me for looking you over like a piece of horseflesh.”

Boromir looked a little embarrassed. “I was very rude when we first met. It was inexcusable. But in my defence, I had never met a woman like you before, and I doubt I will again.”

Cin smirked. “Well, wait until you meet my cousins, if we travel north together.”

Boromir cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? Perhaps I am proposing to the wrong Ranger? This might be a mistake, perhaps I should consider my options.”

Rolling her eyes, she tugged him to his feet and kissed him fiercely. He took her breath away, but didn’t linger—after a moment he pulled away and turned to the doorway.

“All clear!” he yelled out, and to Cin’s shock, applause broke out and several people appeared around the corner—the entire Fellowship, plus Faramir. Candles were lit in the dark anteroom and she finally saw what she had walked right past before—tables had been laid out with food and drink, ready for a celebration. She turned to Boromir with a frown. “What if I had said no?” she asked coyly.

He just grinned.


End file.
